The Guardian of Blackvale Wood
by MarquessaS
Summary: The brothers must solve an ancient threat in the Vermont woods.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

"Ok, so what have you got?" Dean asked, eyeing the waitress as she retreated from their table. He wasn't subtle about it; he craned his neck to get a better view of her behind as she tossed him a sly look over her shoulder.

"Dude, pay attention if you're gonna ask me something!"

Dean reluctantly turned back. "Sorry...go ahead, Brother Samuel."

Sam sighed with irritation and continued. "Fourth death in two weeks in this 'Blackvale Wood'. This time it was a surveyor. They found him with all his equipment, wallet, everything intact. Except he was pretty much stomped into a stain in the dirt. They're saying it was hooves and horns. -_antlers_, I mean. Those old oak woods are full of whitetail deer, but bucks are really only dangerous during the rut, and that's over. They've all shed their antlers months ago."

"Maybe one of'em didn't get the memo, or still wants to get him some. _I'd _keep my antlers on if it meant some tail." Dean offered, grinning stupidly.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Doesn't work that way in nature, Dean. _You're_ the only animal who's permanently in rut. Anyway, as I was saying...the other three were done in by the same way. There were a couple of witnesses; a kid, and some geologist. Both of them said it looked like a huge, black buck that came out of nowhere, and...wait, this is weird; the kid said he saw red eyes-"

Dean was telegraphing his bad intentions to the waitress again. Sam kicked his shin.

"Ow!"

"Cripes, Dean! Would you hose yourself down before you hump the furniture? I'm trying to talk to you here!"

Dean glowered at him. "Fine; just quit being so freaking boring then." His attention was diverted by the breakfast that was set in front of them. Luckily it was the busboy this time. "So guys are getting stomped and gored to death in the magical forest by a monster stag with glowing red eyes. Yeah...I guess that qualifies as a job. Where is this forest anyway?"

"Right here in Vermont, about forty miles south. Closest town seems to be...uh... Wendover."

"Wendover? Are you serious? Gotta be a limerick in there...Wendover. Hey! Don't bend over in Wendover!"

"That's not a limerick, and you're an idiot."

"Bite me! I wasn't finished. _God _you're crabby today. You know what you need?"

Sam put his fork down with a withering look at his brother. "Let me guess; to get drunk, or get laid."

"No, a kick in the ass; but the other two wouldn't hurt you either!"

They ate the rest of their breakfast in moody silence.

* * *

><p>Back in the car, Dean complained, "Aw, man...I hate going into the woods. Why can't we ever get jobs that are on resorts or something?"<p>

It was true, he was hardly a wilderness enthusiast. Where Sam saw beauty and nature and the scent of renewal; Dean saw damp darkness, bugs and the stink of decay. Their perspectives were polar opposites, as always. Sam was busy mapquesting Wendover. "Ok, take this road further west until highway 43, then right on it, stay on for about half an hour, then left on County road 17. Then that just goes straight into the downtown. Got that?"

"Yeah, I think I can manage. See what lore you can dig up about a forest demon, or spirit. That oughta keep you outa my face for a while."

Sam shot him a look but searched anyway. As he did so, Dean was mouthing words to himself with a little grin.

"What?" Sam finally demanded.

"Nuthin." he smiled smugly.

"You're still trying, aren't you?-to think of something with Wendover in it. I can hear the gears grinding."

Ignoring the jibe, Dean smiled and recited his masterpiece. "A sasquatch who thought he had class...told his brother to quit being crass. When they got to Wendover, Big bro bent him over, And gave him a boot in the ass."

Sam punched him, but laughed despite himself. "Wow. Good one." he snorted.

* * *

><p>They found themselves some typical cheap digs on the outskirts. Once they'd settled in, Sam looked over his research. "Well, it hardly narrows it down. There's hundreds of deities and spirits that are linked with forest, just about every culture has one. Some are protective, some are there because they were banished, some male, female...animals, animal crosses; you name it. We're going to have to find some specifics."<p>

Dean kicked off his boots and sat back on his bed. "Well, we already heard about a stag, and red eyes. Does that cut any out?"

"I suppose that would eliminate the female deities, if it was actually a buck. I think only caribou females have antlers; no other deer females grow them."

"Why do you have crap like that clogging your brain?" Dean marvelled.

Sam ignored him and continued. "The stag has all kinds of associations. Christ, for one. He was supposed to turn up as a white stag every now and then. And the Celts had Cernunnos; he was a forest god with a man's body and stag's antlers. Same with Herne, he was English. Stories have him as both a good guy and a bad guy. Um...there's one from India that appeared as a golden stag to his mate, but he had nothing to do with protecting a forest."

"Huh. Well I'm pretty sure it ain't Jesus that's stomping people into the dirt in Vermont. But those other two; Cern-whatever and Herne...they sound more likely. I still don't get why they'd be in an American forest, but the this Blackvale Wood's obviously got some issue, and something has decided to protect it."

Sam grunted a response. "You're probably right about Blackvale. We should nose around, try to find out what the problem could be."

"Mmm hmm. And maybe we should talk to the two who actually saw it, too. If we can get a better idea of what the thing looks like, we can narrow it down that way. What do you want to be this time? Rangers or something?"

Sam thought for a minute. "How about environmental consultants or something like that? You know; here to check up on wildlife numbers and stuff. We won't need fake badges then."

"Sure, whatever. Rocky and Bullwinkle; environmental consultants to the stars."

Sam snorted a laugh."Yeah, maybe some different names, though."

* * *

><p>After some sniffing around, they learned the addresses of the two witnesses. They were reluctant at first to drag the poor kid into it; if he'd witnessed a violent death, the last thing he needed was a couple of strangers reminding him of the whole thing. But upon further digging, they learned that he'd simply been ducking school, and had gone into the woods and seen the creature. Not too traumatic, so they felt comfortable in grilling him about it. It was Dean who managed to wheedle the description out of the kid. He returned to the car, and filled Sam in. "Deer head, big antlers...a cape or something, and glowing red eyes. Sounds like he was hopped up on skittles and read too many comic books." he snorted.<p>

"Maybe. But it's a start. If the geologist guy can corroborate that, we're on to something."

"Yeah-" Dean said, "That one will be tricky...maybe you should do it. He lost his girlfriend to it, when he went into the woods to do some core samples for some builder or something. He'll need some _handling_."

Sam understood. The man would need someone that was a little more sensitive than Dean was capable of.

* * *

><p>A few hours later, Sam had met with the poor man. His story matched, and he'd added the ugly description of having to watch the thing maul his companion. But he had helped them further by recommending they speak to a local woman, one Hedda Baldwin; who apparently knew more about the Blackvale than anyone. "She's some old lady who lives in a cabin there. She's supposed to be the one to talk to; her family has always lived in or near those woods."<p>

"Ok, then." Dean said, revving up the Impala, "Just tell me where."

* * *

><p>Hedda Baldwin was best described as eccentric. Dean would have been more inclined to use the term nutcase. She was impossible to age; she could have been anywhere from sixty to a hundred, as far as they could tell. She lived in a tidy old hewn-log cabin, with out-house and well with hand-pump no less. Rustic didn't cover it. Feisty and independent, she eyed her visitors calmly as they professed to be consultants with a few questions.<p>

"Ma'am, we're from...um...Green Day Environmental Consulting group. We're trying to learn more about the age and importance of the Blackvale Wood. We believe it's an irreplaceable part of the greater ecosystem, and it may be under some pressure. We were told that you're the one to speak to, as the resident expert on these woods." Sam tried.

She eyed him smugly. "Too late. Those greedy bastards won't be getting my land now, and the Blackvale's safe. I Could've used you before, but I got protection now." She swept the porch as they spoke, forcing them further and further back with her broom. They exchanged glances.

"Protection?" Sam asked.

"That's right. I probably shouldn't say anything; my grandaughter says it makes me sound daft. But I've got the stone mask, you see. My old dad brought it back here with him in '63; he used to be the gardener in the Windsor Vicarage. It sat in the flower bed for years. They had promised it to him, you know, when he retired; but they put it in the church museum instead. So he pinched it when he came over. Funny how things work out... I had it for years, but only learned the how and why of it now. So I used it, I conjured Him up. Now he protects those woods. We don't need you now, me and the Blackvale; so you'd best be off finding something else to save." She wasted no more time on them, she swept them down the steps, like so much litter, then turned and shut the door. They looked at each other, not quite sure what to do next.

"Mask? _Conjured? _What the hell was that all about?" Dean scowled.

Sam shook his head. "I don't know. That was either alot of useful info, or she's lost her marbles. But it sounds like she knows something about the spirit or whatever is in those woods. Sounds to me like she might be involved somehow in bringing it here." He went back to the door and knocked. "Mrs. Baldwin? Hedda...?"

Her voice answered from within the house. "You boys had best be on your way. Beowulf's coming round now-"

_"Beowulf?"_ they asked each other. That little riddle solved itself with the snarl of a huge dog that came tearing around the side of the cabin. Wisely, the brothers sprinted to the car.

* * *

><p>They returned to their motel, for a break. Dean cracked two beers and sat on the bed. "Ok; we got a stag-horned guy with a hood and cape...red eyes...something about a mask; who protects the forest. See if that adds up to anything."<p>

Sam searched using the new parameters. Within minutes he had it. "It's Herne. Gotta be. And here, listen to this; there's a whole bit about the mask she was talking about!" He read the passage. "In 1487 the last Keeper of Windsor Great Park (and therefore a successor of Herne himself), one William Evingdon donated a building to the parish of Windsor, "for the good of his soul". This property was opposite the parish church on Windsor High Street, and it became the vicarage. About 450 years later in the early 1930s the vicarage was moved to Park Street, and during the move workmen dug up a strange object. It was a carved stone head of something not quite human. It had the face of a man, including a moustache, but the ears and antlers of a stag. The eyes were deepset and fierce. There were many theories as to its origin. It may have been part of a gargoyle or some other grotesque church ornament, and indeed it has been described as looking something like the carved stone Green Man faces which decorate many churches. Some suggested that it had last belonged to William Evingdon, and that it was passed on from Keeper to Keeper as some kind of tradition, or symbol of office. It became known as The Mask of Herne. It seems to have been left in the vicarage garden on Park Street until after the 2nd World War when the property was sold and the mask placed in the church museum, where it remained until 1963 when it was stolen."

"No shit!" Dean exclaimed. "So all her babbling was true. And she figured out how to use it to bring it here to guard her woods from whoever's after them."

"Yeah, but I don't know how she did it, or where she got the knowledge. But Dean, if she did bring Herne here she's got a tiger by the tail. This deity is volatile, from what I see here. If she thinks she can control it, she's going to find out it has no master."

"Yeah, and it doesn't have any problem with spilling blood, apparently." Dean downed his beer and got himself another. "Well...guess we'd better give Bobby a call. He must have something in one of those moldy books about corralling this thing."

* * *

><p><em>"You know; I should start charging for my services!"<em> Bobby teased.

"Did you figure out what we need to trap it, or not?" Dean demanded impatiently.

"_Easy! Mind your manners. You realize how much work this was, don't you?"_

"Yeah, yeah; you're a freaking saint, we'd be toast without you, you're brilliant and how-can-we-ever-repay-you, blah blah blah. Happy now?"

_"That, and a two-four will do. Now write this down; For starters, remember; this is from old English sources, so I don't know if we can substitute. You need this: One casket, made of yew wood. Line it with copper. Spread pine-tar over the box edge; it's aromatic, and it'll seal the box. Add sphagnum; that's your typical soft, green moss,...uh... Acorns from the oldest white oak... Are you getting all this?"_

"Yeah, what else?"

_"Juniper berries, the spoor of a doe in estrus, and a gold offering."_

Dean wrote down the list. "What the hell is spoor of a doe in estrus?"

Bobby cleared his throat. _"Horny female deer piss."_

"What? Aw gross, you gotta be kidding me! How the hell am I gonna find that? Assuming I even wanted to?"

Bobby chuckled. "_Don't panic, Dean. Believe it or not, that's the easy one. All you have to do is find a hunting supply shop. They carry it in bottles as an attractant. __Juniper berries grow on your typical low, spreading evergreen ornamental shrub; they're sort of dark purple, or blue. You're just as likely to find it in somebody's foundation planting as in your woods. Let's see...Pine tar; same thing as pine sap. Scrape it off a tree where it's been cut or lost a branch. Moss is easy, it'll be everywhere. The acorns; well, just find out where the biggest, oldest oak tree is, and collect some from it. Copper you'll have to figure out. You could try a craft supply store or a salvage place, or maybe a building supply store. And yew wood; I dunno. It's an evergreen; maybe a spruce or pine box will do. Or cedar...Otherwise, try a woodworker supply place, they might have exotic woods."_

"Bobby, we're in BF Nowhere. There won't be all these specialty shops."

_"Well then either try to substitute, or go to where you might find it...it's up to you."_

Dean sighed as he looked over his list. Gold...like they could afford to be throwing _that_ around. "Ok; what about some kind of protection?"

_"According to this, you wear a sprig of Nightshade on you. It's a poisonous plant; you know it as belladonna, and you can find it pretty much everywhere. Plant-eaters, and apparently Herne, avoid it. Look it up; it should be growing in that area. If you can find it, put some in your pocket. That should keep it at a safe distance."_

"Mmm. Hope so...I've heard what that thing can do when it gets close up. So we load all this crap in the box...and then what?"

_"Place it, open, at the base of that same massive oak. The forest god will find that combination of stuff irresistible. It says here it'll come out of the wood, become a spirit form and enter the box. Then you shut it securely."_

"Just like that; shut the box and it's trapped?"

"_So it says."_

"Well, then what? What do we do with the box?"

_"Lock it and bury it at the base of the tree, deep as you can. And that's it."_

Dean frowned. "Well...wish us luck. And thanks for all your help again."

_"No problem...and Dean?"_

"Yeah?"

_"Just...be careful."_

"Hey, as always."

Bobby murmured something Dean didn't catch, and said a gruff goodbye.

* * *

><p>"Here; a shopping list from hell." Dean handed it to Sam, who went over it.<p>

"Ok, there's some weird shit here."

"Bobby says the doe spoor is deer piss, and we can get it at a hunting supplier. About half this stuff is going to need a trip, and the other half means going into the woods. You wanna flip for it?"

"Ok, you first."

Dean rooted around a pocket, and found a quarter. "Right; heads it's shopping, tails, the woods." He flipped it. "Crap. Figures!"

It was tails.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"You better not have mind-controlled that."

Sam just smirked as Dean scowled and copied his portions of the list. "I don't know where the hell to look for the 'oldest oak' out there. Maybe there's a guide, or some boyscout who can tell me."

"Don't forget to fill your pockets with bread crumbs."

"Funny. -And there's probably enough of'em in there already. And don't think you're getting off so easy; you'll have to go find a bigger town. You're not going to get much in this place." He looked over the remaining items. "Bobby says if you can't find a box made out of yew-wood that maybe cedar would do. I'd guess it's the contents that are more important anyway. Do me a favour; see if there's any kind of hunting outfitter in town."

Sam checked online and found two. "Looks like it's a big deal out here. I think your best bet is Badham's, on Spruce St. They look like they're the biggest one."

Dean grunted. "Well...might as well see them first. You can get your bottle of deer-pee and I might find somebody to show me into those woods. Are you ready-?"

Sam nodded, shut down the computer and tossed the keys to Dean.

* * *

><p>They found the shop they were looking for. Dean looked around, with both disgust and envy. There was every available weapon displayed here, from crossbows to the latest hunting rifles. It was a hunter's dream, no matter what the quarry. Sam quickly found what they were looking for, and he carried the vial to the counter, where Dean was talking to the clerk.<p>

The man behind the counter eyed Sam. "Buck season's over. You won't get any tags now. Why would you want that?"

"We're doing a census of the white tail population in the Blackvale Wood. I need to get some idea of the buck-to-doe ratio. We work for Green Day Environmental Consulting."

The man nodded, having apparently lost interest. Dean pressed on. "So do you know of anybody who can show me around those woods? I could use a guide."

The clerk wrote a name and number down. "Call this guy. He's young but he knows that area cold. Tell him Bob Richardson sent you."

Dean thanked him and they paid for the first part of their collection needed for trapping Herne. They returned to the car.

"Well...that's one down. Better not head out 'til I get this arranged, otherwise the hike into the woods will have to wait." Dean said, as he dialed the number.

A young man answered, and Dean had his guide arranged within a few minutes. "Ok; got my expert. He said to meet him just up the road from the Baldwin property. There's a hiking trailhead there. You might as well just drop me off there and head out."

"What about the nightshade?" Sam asked.

"Shit; I forgot about that." He unfolded the printout that described where to locate it and it's appearance. "Let's check out some open ground along the way; according to this we should be able to find some."

Sam took the paper and looked it over. "Yeah, that looks familiar. I'm pretty sure I've seen it around. Shouldn't be too hard to find it if it's as common as this says."

* * *

><p>They both watched the roadside on the way out to the Blackvale. Sam pulled over at a likely place. "This spot has all the points described here. Let's check it out." He had a good eye; they found a cluster of plants in no time. Dean tore some up, shook out the loose earth and stuffed it into his coat.<p>

"Well...better get moving. I don't wanna miss the guy." He took a plastic grocery bag from the back seat and stuffed it into another pocket. "Moss, acorns, pine sap, juniper berries. You have your list?"

Sam nodded. "What are we going to do about gold?"

"I don't know yet; I guess that'll have to be last. -Here, drop me off now."

Sam stopped and let him out. "I don't know how long this will take me, since I may have to travel some. What about you, any idea?"

Dean shrugged. "Guess it depends on where this oak tree ends up being. The other stuff should be easy. Just keep in touch, ok?"

"Ok.. Be careful. -Oh, and have fun on your hike!" Sam grinned as he turned the car around.

Dean offered a rude gesture, and he shouted after him, "And don't screw around with my station settings!"

* * *

><p>He didn't have to wait long. Within ten minutes, a car slowed and parked at the roadside. A wiry young man got out. "Are you Dean Winch?"<p>

"Yeah." Dean decided he liked the kid right off the bat. He was driving an old Charger, and with different coloured doors and evidence of red primer, it was clear it was under restoration. "Nice car." he said.

Mike Hawley thought he was being mocked. "Yeah, well, we can't all be driving a frikkin' jag, you know. What do _you_ drive?"

Dean grinned. "67 Impala; mint, all black."

The guide's sullen expression turned to one of admiration. "Sweet. You do the work yourself?"

"Mostly. Whatever needs an expert gets done by a buddy of mine. I do the rest."

Mike nodded. "The Charger should be paint-ready in a couple of months. She's sucking me dry, though."

"Yeah, I hear you."

Mike motioned Dean to follow him, and they entered a wide and easy trail. "So what are you out here for?"

Dean answered in character. "I work for an environmental consulting outfit. I've got to get some samples of a few things for some tests. Most of my list is easy, but I needed help finding the oldest white oak in the area."

"I can tell you where that is right now. There's a huge, twisted oak in a clearing about four miles north; if that isn't the oldest around here, I'd be surprised. Never saw a bigger one."

"Good. The only other one I might need help finding is juniper berries."

Mike Hawley stopped and pulled a handful of something off a low evergreen bush at the trail side. He handed it to Dean. "There you go. Juniper."

Dean examined the fragrant, waxy berries in his hand, impressed. "Thanks, man. You're making my job easy."

The guide shrugged. He had sunk into frowning silence which seemed to grow worse the further they pushed into the woods. The trail was narrowing, it looked less and less like a path the deeper they went. Dean was glad he had the kid to show him; he would have been hopelessly lost a half hour ago. They continued on in silence for an hour or so, thankfully with no hint of Herne. A brighter spot showed ahead. Mike pushed through the brambles into a small clearing surrounded by old growth. Near the centre stood an ancient and imposing tree, it's massive, twisting limbs reaching out in all directions. Dean stood, admiring it.

"Well; there's your tree. " Mike Hawley mumbled. Dean turned to reply, but suddenly his world exploded in stars. He never saw what hit him, and hit the ground like a wet sack of sand.

* * *

><p>Sam was enjoying having a little time alone. He was never fully comfortable driving the Impala while Dean watched him with an eagle-eye. Now he could put her through some paces, and he revelled in the power and speed. He flew over a few humps in the road, gaining air on at least one or two. On landing hard after the last one, he laughed to himself and toned it down, as he didn't want to get pulled over. Dean was right; Wendover was a bust with regard to his list. He needed to find the nearest city, and according to his map, that was Burlington. He hoped he could find what he needed there, but at least it was a beautiful drive either way. He wondered how Dean was making out in the woods. -<em>Probably bitching and whining to his guide<em>- He started to see signs for the city, and when a good exit came up, he turned off and found a coffee shop. He ordered a coffee and a maple donut, and went over his list. He figured a craft or art store would be a good bet for the copper; people used it to make tacky, embossed pictures, he'd seen a few examples in some of their low-rent motel rooms. He might even find the box there. And they already had the buck attractant, so that would leave an offering of gold. He decided to hunt down some pawn shops; there was bound to be at least one in the city, and that would be the best place for cheap gold.

When the waitress returned with his order, he asked to borrow a phone book. A quick glance through showed him several likely places. When his coffee was done, he wrote down the addresses and set out. It would have been easier to navigate if he'd had his computer handy and he cursed himself for leaving it behind. Not that he minded the drive...he'd seen some beautiful countryside, and Burlington itself was a lovely old town. He stopped by his first art supply shop, and came back empty handed but with a recommendation of another. That one proved more fruitful, he found his thin copper sheets and bought more than enough to line a breadbox-sized casket. He was shocked at the price; it ate into his available funds more than he'd hoped. But it was necessary.

The next foray was in search of the box itself. That proved a bit harder. After being directed all over the city by well-meaning salesclerks, he finally found something suitable in an Amish furniture shop of all things. He found a keepsake box there; unfinished, and made of cedar. Not yew-wood but close enough, and it came with its own built-in lock and key, which was handy. That left gold. He counted his remaining cash and realized that after gassing up the Impala, he probably didn't have enough left to buy any. He figured he'd better call Dean to let him know. They'd have to combine their funds for that last item. He hoped Dean was successful in filling his own list.

After several tries, he gave up for the moment. Dean wasn't answering, and he had left one message; no point in leaving more. It worried him momentarily. Dean was always going on about the importance of staying in touch. But he was in the forest; no doubt cell reception was spotty at best amidst the trees. He returned to the car and began the drive back towards Wendover.

* * *

><p><em>Music...far away<em>. The tune seemed vaguely familiar, and it was getting louder, more insistent.-_my phone-_

Dean awoke to find that the guide had led him to the oak after all, just as he'd requested. As a matter of fact he could get a good, close look at the ancient tree, as he was firmly tied to it. His cell stopped ringing, and it stayed unanswered, frustrating and useless, in his shirt pocket. He shook his throbbing head a little, trying to regain focus. The oak was huge; his shoulders ached from being pulled tightly behind him around it's girth, but his hands were nowhere near touching. Craning his neck as much as he could, he looked up into its crown. Branches, as thick as other trees' trunks, snaked away from the centre, reaching far into the forest canopy. They were heavy with acorns, still green. They wouldn't turn brown and drop for months, and the leaves were glossy and dark, and so full that they blocked the light almost completely. He could see some patches of pale, pink-tinted sky, here and there in between. It looked like it was somewhere around seven or eight o'clock. Dean swore. He'd been gone for three hours, and Sam wouldn't have a clue as to where in these damn woods to look for him.

Time seemed to drag. He grew tired of listening to the forest sounds. Sam would have found it all peaceful, soothing. _Spiritual_ even. It creeped Dean out, hearing the skittering and crawling life all around him. He shivered as he thought of the things slithering under the wet leaves, leaving their little silvery slime trails. He scanned the greenery around him, trying to guess from which direction he could expect company. Not that it gave him any advantage; he was pretty much at the mercy of who ever's idea this was. He didn't know why he'd been targeted, but this was something other than simple robbery; he could feel his wallet still safe in his back pocket.

A shadow lowered slowly in front of his vision, and he focused on it. It was a grey spider; a big one. It hung on a silk thread, swaying mere inches in front of his eyes, its crab-like legs splayed in anticipation of landing. He recoiled, and it continued rappelling slowly, until it touched down on his jacket front. It was just a harmless orb weaver, but to Dean, a spider was a spider; they were all enemies. It looked sinister, like a fat grey grape with claws. He blew at it frantically as it crawled up his jacket, and it stopped and raised its front legs defensively. Finally he dislodged it with a well aimed wad of spit, and he stomped it decisively as soon as it reached the ground. -_Gonna pound that sonofabitch guide- _he vowed, shuddering.

He tried yet again to loosen the ropes at his wrists; straining to twist his hands against the rough bark until his skin was raw and he was too tired to try anymore. He was stuck where he was until somebody showed up. He sighed and frowned, relaxing his knees to take a break from standing, until his hands went numb and he felt his troublesome left shoulder begin to separate slightly, forcing him to take his weight off his arms again. It was getting cold, although he doubted it ever got very warm in this particularly old and thick part of the woods. His warm breath was a visible cloud in the cool, damp air.

He figured that by now, Sam might be out searching. He shouted his name, scattering complaining birds. The echo reverberated through the trees, unanswered. He tried again, several times; straining to hear some response, but there was no voice other than his own. Finally his frustration exploded into rage and he roared a string of epithets and kicked his heel against the tree trunk until the bark flew and the pain to his foot was past justifying. He loosed one last curse and felt a little better. At least he'd scared off any creatures that might have got it in their heads to taste the bitter offering tied to the oak.

Shortly afterward, he heard the cracking and rustling of something making its way through the undergrowth. He strained to get a glimpse of it, momentarily relieved that it was human.

Three men soon joined him in the small clearing where the white oak held court. He was pretty sure they weren't there to rescue him. -_shit...here we go- _he thought.

"Well well. Now that I have your attention-" the eldest of the trio said, "Let me tell you why we're all here." He stood uncomfortably close Dean's face; a swaggering, well-dressed and overly groomed man in his sixties. "For starters; I hope you don't hold it against young Mike here. After all, he did what you asked and found the oak for you. He just had other requests to honour as well."

Dean threw Mike a look that suggested he wasn't at all forgiven. "What the hell's this about? I don't even know you!"

The spokesman backhanded him across the mouth. He had a massive and gaudy signet ring, it instantly split Dean's lip.

"No no; _I_ talk and you listen. You see that ridge over there? Well just beyond it is a very nice new golf course. I built it. And people really like to buy houses next to nice golf courses. They'll pay absolutely stupid amounts of money for it. Now I know what you are; you're environmental consultants, you and that other fella. And I know you've been talking to Hedda Baldwin; most likely she hired you to find some damn frog or weasel that's endangered, and say it lives here in these woods-"

"Look, jackass; you got it wrong, we-" Dean's angry denial was cut short by another blow. He spat out blood and glowered.

"Shut your damned mouth and listen, I'm not gonna tell you again. I've got ninety percent of Blackvale Wood now. The only thing in my way is her ten percent between my parcel and the road, without which I'm land-locked. That old bitch is going to sell, or else she's going to reach the end of her days early; in which case I'll buy it from the estate. Either way this development is going through whether anybody likes it or not. You god-damned granola eco-warriors can't always get your way. It's called progress; 'bout time you all learned to live with it!"

"She didn't hire us, this has nothing to do with her-"

The man sighed with irritation and nodded to the third of the trio. "Mason; if you will." The one so-named drove a fist into Dean's belly, leaving him breathless and gagging.

"Sonofabitch!" he coughed.

The spokesman clamped his hand around Dean's throat and leaned into his face so closely that Dean could count the links on his heavy gold chain. "Now, I don't know if you have something to do with my people getting offed out here. The coroner says it was just some animal, and I doubt you bastards have the balls for murder, but you could be pulling some trick. But it won't make any difference; I've got hundreds of employees, I'll just keep sending them in until the damn job is done. So here it is; I don't give a shit what she's paying you, you stay away from that old bitch and you get the hell away from my woods, you hear? You're done here, or you're gonna regret it. I guarantee it." He let go of Dean's throat and stepped back as Mason slammed his ham-hock fist into him again, forcing Dean to grunt loudly with pain. The dull-eyed thug followed it with one more, for emphasis. The guide, Mike, shifted uncomfortably, turning his eyes away.

"Do we understand each other?" Badham demanded. Dean was winded, but he nodded slightly. Badham smiled without humour. "I'll take that as a yes." He dismissed Dean, leaving him to _'ruminate on his experience._' They turned back toward the trail, satisfied he was suitably cowed.

Dean _almost_ made it through relatively unscathed. But after a moment, he regained his breath and found his voice. His caution and good sense evaporated in the heat of his fury, and he shouted after them. "You can't pull shit like this! Who the hell do you think you are? You can't bully some old woman out of her home; last time I checked there's laws, you greedy, lard-sucking sonofabitch!"

Badham stopped and turned, and walked back to the tree. He leaned close and grasped Dean by the shirt-front. "Who _am_ I? I'm James William Badham. My family has lived here for generations; my businesses employ half of Wendover. Nobody tells me what I can and can't do; I run this place, I own it, and everybody in it. You'd best remember that name, you tree-hugging fairy!"

Dean spat on him. Badham looked down at his fresh, pressed white shirt, frowning at the offending glob of bloody spit as it made it's way down and clung stubbornly to a pearly button.

"You aren't gonna get to walk away from this, asshole! _I'll_ guarantee it!" Dean snarled.

Badham's eyes narrowed. He turned to his heavy henchman. "Gil; make sure he won't forget this any time soon."

James Badham crossed his arms and watched with satisfaction as Gil Mason did what he did best; beating his captive with cold efficiency until Dean was bloodied and no longer able to stand. He stopped when his efforts were interrupted by the ringing of Dean's phone.

"Mind if I take that?" James Badham winked. He reached into Dean's pocket and retrieved the phone. Dean stayed silent, wheezing hard and fighting off a smothering darkness.

"Hello!" Badham said amiably.

"_Dean?"_

"Oh, I'm sorry, he's a little tied up at the moment.."

"_Who is this?"_ Sam demanded, instantly alarmed. Dean never let his phone out of reach, it was their lifeline.

"Me? Oh...let's just say I'm a teacher; here to educate you folks about the importance of the Blackvale Estates Residential Development."

"_Where's my brother?" _It was a slip; they were supposed to be environmental consultants, colleagues.

"Brother, huh? You're some whole clan of tree-huggers, then?"

"_What the hell are you talking about? We're not-"_

Badham cut him off. "I know what you're here for. You and that old bitch are trying to stop this project. You know; I've already got my hands full with that pain-in-the-ass old hag. I don't need any more hassles, understand? Your brother here's just starting to get the idea. Here, buddy; tell your brother what we've been talking about-" He held Dean's head up by his hair and put the phone next to his mouth, nodding to Mason. The heavy lout drove his fist brutally hard into his side again. Dean coughed out a sharp cry at the agonizing crunch of bone. The blow left him gasping.

"Sam!" he croaked, "Stay away-"

Badham came on the line again. "You see, there? He's learning. Not a quick study, your brother; gonna take a few lessons, I think.".

Their laughter came through loud and clear; it burned Sam to his soul. He wanted to crawl through the damn phone and tear the bastard's head off, but he had to try a different tact. He knew that antagonizing these people would only bring more harm to Dean, and he didn't know what shape he was in now. "Look, we'll do whatever you want; we don't want a war with you. It's just a job; we can leave it... Please, just leave him alone!"

"Atta boy! Now here's a _reasonable_ man. We'll call it a deal."

"_Where is he?"_

Badham laughed. "Well, he's right in his element. He's in the Blackvale, hugging the biggest damned oak tree he's ever seen. Getting dark soon...it's dangerous in these woods at night. Better hurry." He slipped the phone back into Dean's pocket and leaned close again, with a crocodile grin. "You have yourself a fine night, now. Say hello to your brother for me." Chuckling at his own cleverness, he turned jovially to his companions, and motioned toward the trail. "Come on, gentlemen. I have a whiskey waiting with my name on it."

The trio retreated through the underbrush, laughter echoing behind them. Dean never heard it. He sagged against the tree and succumbed to the pain and hissing blackness robbing his senses, passing out in the chilly silence that remained.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

At 19, Mike Hawley was just a kid, really. He wore a front of tough disinterest, but he was still young enough to be intimidated. And he was a legitimate and skilled guide in these woods; regularly taking overfed executives on hunts during deer season. When Bob Richardson over at Badham's had advised that he speak to the Big Man before he went out to the Blackvale, he knew he had better comply. His old man worked for Badham's sawmill and it was made abundantly clear that he _wouldn't _anymore if Mike didn't do what he was told. They told him to go ahead with the job, but do whatever was necessary to make sure the guy stayed there until Badham had a discussion with him.

He felt absolutely awful at the turn of events. He had no idea they were going to beat the crap out of him like that. He would have told them to go to hell if he'd known. He remembered the look the guy gave him, condemning him for his betrayal. He knew he deserved it. He trailed behind the fat-asses ahead...Emperor Badham, and his trained ape Gil Mason. All they had to do was scare the guy. He wished he could have told them to find somebody else, but his dad needed that job, and in Wendover; if you were out of the good graces of James Badham, you were nothing. -_Screw-it_-he thought angrily. He couldn't go back now; they'd know. But he could do something. He quietly pulled out his pocket knife, and stealthily marked the trail that they took out of the woods, using the blade to carve every other tree with a clear slash. He hoped that the brother would pick up on it. It was all he could do at the moment.

When they reached the road again, Badham turned to the young man. He handed him a hundred dollar bill. It smelled cloyingly of cologne. "I thank you for your fine work, kid. I'm sure your old man's proud. Naturally I expect you to have the good sense to keep your mouth shut." he winked. Mike mumbled a reluctant thank you. He felt like a whore. He vowed to turn back the moment they returned to town. The brother could miss his markings, and he was going to make sure that poor bastard got back out of those woods. He was a hard kid, but he still had a conscience.

* * *

><p>It was the odour that brought him around. Something pungent; earthy and ...strange. It penetrated his fog. He had difficulty opening an eye; they were both swollen and crusted with blood. But he squinted through one, and blinked to focus. He saw the blurry forest floor at his feet, obscured by the steam of his own breath. It was nearly dark, and details were fading. He raised his head a little with a groan. Something was there with him. A dark shape stood close, shifting back and forth, from foot to foot in agitation. It seemed human in outline. He froze, and stared at what he could see of the thing . A cloak, that seemed like living, woven vines, hung from it's shoulders. Hair, or something like it; long and tangled and leafy... And sprouting from it; <em>antlers<em>.

A pair of eyes met his. They were narrowed with distrust; deep-set, and heavily-browed, in a thickly-bearded human-like face. They were brown, but strange. No whites showed. The pupils were dark, and reflected what little light remained with an eerie phosphorescence.. Not round like those of a man, they were horizontal. _Like a goat... _Dean stopped breathing. It leaned closer, haltingly, and he tensed as it looked him over warily. It _sniffed_ him then.

Apparently, Dean's scent did not meet with its approval. The creature pulled back sharply. It snorted once, as if to rid the foreign smell from its nostrils. The eyes flashed crimson and it instantly changed, taking the form of something huge and black. It loomed over him so closely that Dean recoiled in terror, and the flash of pain brought by that motion shocked him. He croaked something barely audible as a wall of black shut his senses down, and he slipped back into unconsciousness, sure that he was done.

* * *

><p>Sam parked at the roadside where he'd left Dean hours before. He popped the trunk, arming himself with a reliable flashlight and an even more reliable gun. Dean was supposed to meet his guide here, but he wasn't even sure if the guy showed up. He couldn't remember the name. Dean had mentioned it but it was a detail that he hadn't thought important. He wished he'd paid more attention, so he could call him and find out if they'd even connected. He locked the car and started his search.<p>

The path began clearly enough. It was wide and open for the first half mile, but it got complicated after that. Sam stood at the first divergence in the trail. It was one or the other, and the wrong one meant...well, he just had to get it right. He stood still, calling Dean's name.

Only forest sounds answered, the distant twitter of birds echoing high in the crowns of leaves, and the occasional rustle of something scurrying below. He swatted at the mosquitos that made a halo around his head, and called again, listening intently for anything that could possibly be a voice. Again, there was only the whine of the insects. His breath was condensing in the damp air. It was cooling fast; he zipped his jacket a little higher, shivering a little with nervousness and chill. He started to feel a little panicky, it was so much darker amongst the old trees.

Scanning ahead again, his eyes picked up something anomalous in the gloom. On the right-hand path, a silvery line showed on a trunk. The fresh white wood now exposed through the slashed bark stood out amongst the dull greys and browns. Sam examined it, sure that it was man-made and very recent. He searched ahead and found another mark, and he could see a third a few yards further. Someone had marked the trail.

He took off at a jog, following the cuts deeper and deeper into the woods, stopping at the next split in the trail. Sure enough, one path showed more of the marks. As he followed the brushy, meandering deer trail, he was struck by an ugly thought. It suddenly occurred to him that he had just started following, faithfully believing that the marks were there to lead him. But they could just as easily be there to misguide. -_Idiot!- _He stopped, panting, and cursed himself for his gullibility. Dean would have suspected the latter right off.

The trail was getting tighter and more overgrown as he progressed; it would probably just dwindle to nothing. He ran a hand over his sweating face, sure now that he'd jeopardized his brother with his naive stupidity. Why the hell would some one be guiding him in good faith now? Dean had obviously fallen into the hands of people who had no qualms about hurting him, and here he was, following their lure like some brainless rodent. It was so obvious now; for christ's sakes, there might as well be an upturned box at the trail's end, a piece of cheese inside and propped open by a stick with a string. He was on the verge of tears. The last, stricken sound Dean had made over the phone echoed accusingly in his brain.

-_Get a freaking grip!_ he rebuked himself furiously. He stopped moving and made another attempt to call out to Dean. This time, as he strained to hear; he thought there was something. Not words, but... He called again.

_There! _That was definitely a response. He took off in the direction from which the sound seemed to come, not even noticing that the tree markings still held true. He burst into the clearing where the ancient tree stood. He shone his light in a wide arc; the yellowish light eerily illuminating the space and sending grotesque shadows swaying away from its reach.

And he saw him.

"Dean!"

He ran to the tree, both relieved and horrified. Dean stirred at his name, raising his head. He flinched, startled at the touch of hands on his bruised face.

"Jesus! Dean it's me, it's Sam! Come on-" Sam pleaded with him to snap out of it. Dean shook the cobwebs from his senses. It was pitch dark, but the flashlight was blinding, and he couldn't see clearly through the swollen bruises now almost sealing his eyes.

"Sammy...?"

"Yeah, I'm here. You're ok now, it's ok. I'll get you outa here!"

"Good." Dean mumbled hoarsely. "-sucks out here."

Sam kept a hand on his chest to keep him from falling, and reached around with the other to cut the rope. It was a good thing he had such long arms: the girth of the tree was spectacular. He sawed at the cord, and when it gave way he caught Dean and lowered him gently to the soft leaves of the forest floor. "Jesus-" he muttered again, dismayed as he crouched beside him and shone the light over his brother's form, seeing the visible damage. "Aw, man...what happened?"

Dean licked his shattered lip, summoning the strength to return fully to the present. " Sam...I know why the woods need protecting...the threat-"

"Easy, tell me later. How bad is it?"

"Bad enough... Worked me over pretty good-" He groaned as feeling started to return to his arms now. "-_ugh- _my shoulder pulled out." he winced.

"The left one?"

"Yeah." Dean always had trouble with the left since he'd dislocated it a few years back. It still separated easily. He pushed himself up to a sitting position and leaned against the tree trunk. He took a shaky breath, "Sam, we've gotta get out of here. I saw it; the stag thing. -At least I think I did. It came, when it was quiet; after the bastards left. Had a cloak...antlers... It just stood there watching me, then it came close... It freaked at me when it caught my scent. Thought I was a goner..." He bitterly hoped it had gone on to stomp Badham's party.

Sam's uneasiness kicked up a notch. "Shit! We'd better go fast then. Can you get up? Here; put your arm over my shoulder."

Dean did so and let Sam pull him to his feet. He staggered for a moment, and Sam grabbed his sides to steady him. It was a quick but unfortunate reaction, and Dean yelped at the touch to his battered ribs, twisting away and slipping out of Sam's grip. He fell to his hands and knees in the leaves. The pain was intense, it turned his stomach and he retched, cursing in pure misery. Sam knelt with him, and when it was over, he gently got him to his feet again. Dean stood, gripping Sam's arm and swaying, as dizziness threatened to drop him again. But he stayed up.

"Ok? You want to try to walk with me?"

-_Running's better- _Dean nodded and they set off, slowly and awkwardly, like two clumsy participants in a three-legged race. Sam saw with relief that his initial instincts weren't wrong after all; the marks were still there on the trunks, now leading away from the oak. He winced in sympathy as Dean groaned and cursed, stumbling his way along. It was a long and arduous walk back, they stopped frequently when it became too much for Dean and he had to rest, and by now the darkness was like cold, damp velvet around them. Dean was tiring fast. He held his free left arm to his side with effort. Sam stopped and sat him down, and he took his own jacket and hung it over Dean's shoulders, tying the sleeves in a knot in a makeshift sling. It helped.

"Thanks, Sam. I don't know what I'd have done if-" He was interrupted by a distant sound; a high pitched, terrified scream. "What the hell was that?" he said, alarmed.

"I don't know. It sounded like screaming...a cougar, maybe?"

"Don't think there's cougars in Vermont." Dean said. He didn't know whether he should be relieved or not.

" Well I sure hope not. C'mon; we've gotta keep going." They followed the bright circle in front of them, thankful for the flashlight.

"Do you know where we're going?" Dean asked.

"Yeah, somebody marked the trail all the way from the road. They cut slashes in the bark. Maybe they had a guilty conscience."

-_the guide- _thought Dean. Had to be; he was the only one of the three that looked like he didn't want to be there. Dean felt a little softer toward the kid. But halfway along the path, they came upon the grisly sight of what was left of their screamer.

"Holy shit!" Sam exclaimed, recoiling in horror. It was a body, a young man; and it was blood-soaked, violently trampled. He lay on his back; dead eyes frozen wide in terror. Sam set Dean down and crouched over it. Steam was still rising from the open places. Dean knelt down and squinted at it.

"Aw no! Aw Jesus-!" he said, recognizing the victim.

"You know him?"

"It's the kid I hired to take me in."

Sam stood back up. "Well...looks like the same M.O. Whatever the hell this is, Dean; it's near by and it's pissed. We have to move faster!" He hauled Dean to his feet. "I can try to carry you-"

"Forget it! I'll just keep up with you. Just make sure we're on the right track; don't worry about me." Dean steeled himself to pick up the pace, and to his credit he did manage to speed up.

Sam kept glancing at him as they stumbled along the uneven ground, his expression one of admiration and concern. -_forget piss and vinegar_-he thought-_the guy's full of pure adrenalin_-.

Finally they reached the car. Sam unlocked it as Dean leaned heavily against the rear door, panting from exertion. As Sam opened the passenger door and reached to guide him in, Dean slid out of reach. Sam dropped and knelt beside him, as his brother lay in the gravel, catching his breath. "Gimme a minute-" Dean grimaced.

"Come on-" Sam said, hoisting him carefully and settling him on the seat. Dean was drained; he tried to stave it off, but he passed out against Sam's shoulder for the short ride back to Wendover.

* * *

><p>After phoning in and reporting the discovery of the tragedy in the woods, Sam got Dean to a bed and brought a bowl of hot water and a washcloth. He carefully scrubbed the blood away from his face and throat.<p>

"Am I still pretty...?"

Sam cracked a wry smile. "Well, it's all relative, Dean. But your nose isn't busted. You've got a couple of spectacular shiners going, and a few nice cuts. You look like a hockey goon. Anything else I need to check?"

"Ribs."

Sam stripped him of his layers and was dismayed at the bruises. "Dean... Jesus, why didn't you tell me in the woods? I would have carried you!"

"Cuz you woulda carried me."

"You're a stubborn moron, you know that?" he said.

"Yeah, I know. It's one of my charms."

Sam continued his ministrations. "You've got some swelling here, on the left. Do you think any broke?"

He took a few deep and careful breaths. "Don't think so...cracked, maybe. Felt like it on that last punch." he grimaced. He gingerly sat up to allow Sam to tape him. Sam was an expert by now, but even with his gentle touch, Dean nearly swallowed his tongue at the slight pressure applied in the process.

"Sure you don't want to get this checked out..?" Sam tried, knowing the answer.

Dean shook his head. "What's the point? Nothing they can do about it that you didn't just do. And if I hurt anything important, I wouldn't have made it out of the woods. And besides, it only hurts when I breathe." He gave what should have come across as a wry grin, but with the state of his features it didn't quite come across that way. Sam almost had to look away. When it was done, Dean carefully donned the clean shirt Sam had for him and leaned back. "Thanks, Sam." he said, adding ruefully, "I guess I should be grateful, at least the bastard left me with my teeth and jewels intact."

Sam sat beside him. "So what was this all about, then?"

Dean winced. "Gimme that bottle of Jack Daniels and I'll tell you." Sam did, and Dean swallowed a healthy dose of his preferred painkiller. "Sonofabitch named James Badham basically owns the town and everyone in it. He built a golfcourse beside the woods, and he's got a plan of subdivision for the forest. Hedda Baldwin has the last parcel of land between his and the road, so he has to have it, or he can't build. And since he heard we were "environmental consultants", he figured she hired us to find a way to protect the Blackvale. So naturally he thought he should _discourage_ us."

"Christ! This was over-kill!"

"Yeah..." he sighed. "I mighta provoked him a little."

Sam swore over his brother's persistent recklessness. He saw Dean grimace and hold his shoulder, and he took a flowered pillowcase off one of the beds and tore it to fashion a supportive sling. "How's your hindsight now?" he demanded.

"20/20, if I could open my eyes."

Sam softened. Now was not the time; Dean wasn't in any shape to be berated. It could wait til later. He tied the fabric and slipped it over Dean's head, carefully pulling his arm through. "You should crash for a while. And you must be starving; how about I go out and pick up some dinner?"

Dean swallowed some more of the bourbon. "I guess. But stay out of any place that has Badham on it. Better yet; maybe I should go with you-" He leaned forward to rise, but had to steady himself with a hand on Sam's shoulder as vertigo swept over him. Sam pushed him back against the pillows.

"You even mention getting up again and I'll hide your pants and shoes. I can look after myself, and unlike you, I won't go around pissing anybody off and giving them a reason. Don't worry; it'll just be drive-through anyway. Plus, you're pretty scary-looking at the moment."

Dean didn't have much left to argue.. "Fine." he sighed.

Sam pulled the blankets over him. "Keep that cold washcloth on your eyes. I'll come back with some ice."

Dean mumbled a response and Sam locked the door behind him.

He settled back against the pillows with a weary sigh. He put a hand to his face, feeling the swollen state of his eyes. He was hit by a fleeting regret. -_Gotta learn when to shut up._


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

With Sam gone for the moment, Dean could really take stock. He got up, and slowly, carefully, made his way to the bathroom. The image that greeted him in the mirror was about what he'd expected. Sam was right; it was on the scary-looking side. He almost had to manually open his eyes to see. He rinsed the washcloth and re-applied the icy cold thing to the worst of the swelling. He was relieved that they hadn't broken his nose...he may have joked about it with Sam, but the reality was; he was proud of his good looks. He would never have the best clothes, or an expensive haircut; but that never hampered him when he went on the prowl.

He tried to rotate his sore shoulder, but the ache stopped him. -_Damn- _He pressed the muscle on the point of it, frowning at the numbness. He had definitely separated it, and he knew from experience that the nerves took bloody forever to recover. There was never a good time for an injury, but this was particularly bad timing to be one-handed. He sighed, and pulled up his shirt. He didn't bother undoing the wrap-job that Sam had done, but he gingerly pressed his fingers over the tensor bandage. When they found the place, he sucked in a breath and very nearly blacked out. He gripped the sink edge and swore a few times until the feeling passed. But he needed to know, and he was sure now that it was more than one, and it was more than a bruise, but the bones were still firm, and most likely cracked rather than broken.

But he was officially hampered. That meant several things. First and foremost; he wasn't going to be without a gun within inches of reach from now on. Second; he'd have to tread a little more lightly around potential dangers, and try not to provoke any altercations that he wasn't sure he could win. And third; it meant Sam would have to do the lion's share of legwork. He used the facilities and made his way back to his bed. He was too tired and sore at the moment to feel the fury he should feel over the incident in the woods. But he vowed that it would not go unanswered. The throbbing of his side was making his eyes water, and he reached for the bourbon and swallowed several deep draughts until he had to come up for air. On an empty stomach it had a speedy effect, and as he waited for Sam to return, he dozed off in relief.

* * *

><p>He had no idea of the time when he was awakened by an urgent knock at the door. It shocked him awake, and forgetting his status, he bolted out of bed, only to lose equilibrium and slump heavily against the wall beside the door. The knocking continued, and he growled a response as he waited for the head-rush to subside.<p>

He opened the door a crack. "Yeah?"

A young woman stood there, hand still poised to knock yet again. "Are you the one of environmental consultants that spoke to my grandmother?" she demanded.

Dean peered at her, making sure she was alone. "Yeah, that's us. Why?"

"Please, could you let me in? I really need to talk to you!" Her urgency made him relent. He pulled the safety chain free and opened the door. She entered the shabby room, and immediately averted her eyes from him, shocked and embarrassed.

He looked down, realizing he was wearing only boxers and a half-buttoned shirt. He mumbled an apology and grabbed his jeans. Once presentable, he asked her to grab a seat. He peered at her through his shiners. "So what can I do for you?"

She perched nervously on the chair edge, staring, aghast, at his state. "Good _god,_ what happened to you?"

It was hardly subtle. He shrugged and winced. "I had a run-in with your town patriarch and his pet gorilla. It's nothing; it always looks bad at first." He looked down at the carpet, embarrassed at her reaction.

She got up and looked at him closely. "Have you been to the hospital?"

"Not necessary."

"Look, I'm a triage nurse; you really should be checked out!"

"I said it's fine!" He regretted the sharpness of his tone, and tried to soften it. "I'm Dean, uh...Dean Winch. We work for (_what the hell did Sam call it?)_ Green Day Environmental Consulting group. Who'd you say you were?"

"I'm Abby Fines. You met my grandmother, Hedda Baldwin. Look; I know she said she didn't need you, but I wanted to see what you thought your company could do to help the situation with the Blackvale Wood. Gran is...well, she's eccentric. She's formidable, don't get me wrong; but she has some pretty wacky ideas." Abby paused. "Are you sure you're ok to talk? You look like you need some help..."

Dean hadn't realized he was gripping the chair arm quite so hard. He was _not _alright. He was dizzy and feeling nauseous, and he had just realized the time. Sam had been gone for hours. He took a slow breath and steadied himself, grimacing with the effort. "Sorry; this is still pretty fresh, so I'm not all that sharp at the moment. Yeah, my brother and I spoke to her. She wasn't interested in our services; she seemed to think it was all handled. Why?"

The nurse in her took over and she ignored his words and leaned forward, reaching a hand to touch his forehead. He pulled back. She didn't accept his resistance, and she stood up and examined him more closely. "James Badham did this to you?"

He nodded. "His side-kick."

"Because he thought you would jeopardize the development?" She took his wrist; testing his pulse, then put a hand to his chin, turning his head to assess the bruises.

He had enough and shrugged her off, irritated. "Look, what do you want?"

She switched gears. "What do I want?...I want my Grandmother to be safe. And she won't make it to next year if they force her from her home. You saw it; it's primitive, it's rough...but it's everything to her. She loves those woods. She's only 76; she's probably got at least another decade of contented living left in her. Her whole life was spent there; she buried the ashes of her husband and her son amongst those trees. My mom and her sisters grew up there. For shits sakes, it's just ten acres of forest in a state full of trees; but that bastard Badham has set his sights on her parcel, and as you obviously know; there's little he won't do to achieve his goals. He's the unofficial king of this little backwoods fiefdom; just as every one of his predecessors were. And he pretty much has everyone in this town under his thumb, what with his businesses and his loans. Nobody local will ever step up to help her; they can't afford to."

Dean ground his teeth and shifted position to relieve the pressure on his side. He wished she would just go away. "I already told you; she refused our help. Hell, she set her damned dog on us!"

Abby snorted a laugh. "What, Beowulf? You're kidding, right? That dog's just a big baby; all yap and no snap. He might have drowned you with slobber, but that's about as dangerous as he gets!"

"Yeah, well...he put on a pretty damn convincing show. We weren't going to stop to ask if he was planning to take a chunk out of our asses or not."

"I guess." she smirked. But she grew serious. "Look; if your company can offer some legitimate help with saving that forest, I'd like to hire you. Gran has some...odd ideas. To be honest, I worry she's losing her grip a little; with the stress of all this nonsense. Don't get me wrong, she's perfectly able to keep living by herself there, but-"

"But she thinks she's got the "forest god" in her corner."

Abby blinked. "Pardon?"

"She told us within minutes of meeting her. She seemed pretty confident about it; she sure didn't come across as a bullied or scared old woman."

"So...you already know the story?"

"Some. I know she has some sort of stone carving that came from England, and she said she had figured it out; how to use it some how. And that she 'conjured him'. I don't know what that means, exactly...but your grandmother sure drew some confidence from it."

Abby became uncomfortable. She had no idea her grandmother would spout off to just anyone about her crazy ideas. She chose to move discussion away from that. "Yes, well anyway...do you think there's anything unique and worthy of study in the Blackvale? Something that could put development off for now at least?"

He was truthful in his answer. "There's definitely something unique about that place, and something that needs to be looked into. I don't know yet if it's enough to put the brakes on Badham's plans, but we're sticking around for a while until we know a little more. By the way; how'd you know where to find us?"

She smiled slightly. "Badham may own the town, but there's more than a few dissidents. And Gran has a good eye; she described you pretty accurately, and I just asked the right people."

"huh. Look, Abby...are you sure that maybe she shouldn't move on at this point? I mean, he's already got planning approval on that forest. I can't picture your grandmother wanting to stay there with a bunch of subdivision houses ringing her property."

"You're not up to speed, then. Badham's property is landlocked. Legally he should never have been able to amass that parcel and push the development plan through without road access. But as always, he bullied his way through. But there's no way around the road issue; all he can do is go through Gran's parcel, and she won't sell, or even allow an easement across her land for a road to connect to his part. She is a huge obstacle to it all, and I guarantee she won't budge on it."

Dean leaned forward. "She's not an obstacle if she's dead."

"What are you suggesting?" she asked, horrified.

Dean laid it out. "When that SOB and his help were beating the snot out of me; he was talking the whole time. He said if she wouldn't sell then she might reach the end of her days early, and he'd just buy it from the estate. That's not necessarily worded as a direct threat; he's not stupid. But I think the intent was clear enough. You need to take this to the cops."

Abby was speechless for a moment. "Oh my god! No, he would never go that far-"

"No? Look at me, Abby. Hell, all I did was talk to your grandmother. If my brother hadn't found me earlier, I'd still be tied to a damned tree in the Blackvale."

She stared at him, at his bruised and cut face. Her composure crumbled and she broke into tears. "Oh god...what am I going to do? Badham owns everybody around here, whether they like it or not; even the law. Everything goes his way! Jesus, I don't know where to turn now!"

He could see it in her eyes; she was panicking. Like a mouse in a shoebox, she knew that everywhere she turned, there were only blank walls. "Abby!" he said sharply. "Listen to me...listen!"

She nodded, wide-eyed and mute. He sighed. He didn't like revealing anything about their activities but this girl was going to go off the deep end if he didn't reassure her some. And in retrospect, he didn't want cops coming around either.

"Look; I'm gonna level with you. My brother and I aren't here to look for any rare toadstools or owls...we're investigating the deaths in the Blackvale. You know what I'm talking about; the four people so far? Well, it's five now. And Sam and I are trying to find out how to end the danger."

"The news said...it was an animal attack, like a rogue buck or something...and what do you mean five?"

He ran a weary hand through his hair, his voice growing hoarse with the strain. "A kid named Mike Hawley died tonight, same way as the others. I hired him to be my guide this afternoon; he led me in to the woods, cracked me over the head and tied me to a tree. Badham put him up to it, it wasn't his choice. As far as I can tell, he cut a trail into the tree bark afterwards to lead my brother to where I was, and probably was coming in to cut me loose himself after he managed to ditch Badham. Something got him, something strange and dangerous. We're here to stop whatever it was."

"Mike Hawley?"

"You know him?"

"...I..I grew up with him. We all hung out. He was always in the woods...he knew everything there was to know about the Blackvale!"

"Well, I guess there was something new that caught him by surprise." Dean said grimly.

"Oh god! Does anyone know yet?"

"Probably, by now. Look, I need to call my brother; could you stick around for a minute?"

She nodded as he dialed. She watched him as he waited impatiently for an answer. -_Investigators_- She wondered if they were some sort of cops. The deaths in the woods were certainly strange, she wasn't surprised that someone was finally looking into it. They should be keeping people out of there, but since it was private property, no one had jurisdiction to do it. At the very least there should be danger signs posted.

He tried several times, finally hanging up, cursing. "Sorry. It's just...he went out hours ago to grab some drive-through, and he's never away from his cell. And after what happened to me this afternoon-"

"I didn't see a car out front; do you need a lift somewhere?"

"Yeah, I might, thanks. But I need to keep trying a bit more. I'm not going to know where to even start looking in town." It rang on and he got Sam's voicemail again. Abby noted that his hands were shaking slightly. She guessed that there was more to his injuries than what was visible and she felt awful for pulling him out of his bed, where he clearly should be. And it deepened her fear for her grandmother, especially with the thinly-veiled threat Badham had made. He put the phone down after the six or seventh attempt, and rested his head in his hand. "This isn't right..." he murmured, "Dammit; something's wrong!" He got up carefully and retrieved his coat. "I need to get into town. My brother has my car and that's where he was headed...do you mind?"

"No, not at all; anything to help." She figured that if they were going to be working on anything that would benefit her gran, she'd aid him in any way she could.

* * *

><p>They were almost out the door when his cell rang. Dean saw a familiar number. "Sam?" he said, relief flooding over him..<p>

_"Hello again_." said a smug voice. "_Remember me?"_ It was Badham.

"You sonofabitch-!"

Badham sighed. _"Are we going to do this again? Try to remember; I talk and you listen. I'd have thought you'd learned that lesson."_

"Where's my brother? If you've done anything to him-"

Badham snorted. _"What? You'll come after me? You know, I can't figure if you're arrogant or just plain stupid. I know what shape you're in, remember? And that was just a warning. I'm gonna lay it out for you, real simple. I learned that the Hawley kid was snuffed in my woods tonight, right after I left him at the roadside. I don't think this is coincidence anymore; I think you had something to do with it. So here it is: Your brother is going to be my guest for a little while. And I'm gonna keep sending people into Blackvale to stake my surveys and start clearing land. If they come back out at the end of each day, your brother's safe; but if anything happens to any of them, you can start writing his eulogy. An eye-for-an-eye, understand? A life for a life."_

Dean blanched and gripped the doorframe with white knuckles. His voice grew rough with emotion. "You f~cking touch him and I'll tear you apart, you goddamned piece of garbage! Put him on, or I'm calling the cops right now!"

_"Naturally. Wouldn't want you to think I'm bluffing." _He held the phone to Sam's face.

"Sam?" Dean demanded.

Sam coughed and took a laboured breath before answering. _"Dean, I'm ok. Don't waste time looking for me, just keep working on what we were doing!" _His words were stopped by the sodden thud of a blow.

Dean became frantic. "Sam? Sam-? SAM!"

_"He's fine, he's just gonna take a little nap for a while. Remember what I said; if my people are unharmed, then so is your brother. You know the rest"_

The line went dead. Dean stared at his cell, and it slipped out of his suddenly nerveless hand. Shock and fear hit him like a solid wall, and he leaned heavily against the doorframe, trying to breathe as the room spun furiously around him. He was aware that Abby was saying something, but all he could hear was a piercing static as he lost his grip and slid to the floor.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

He didn't remember getting into her car. But he came-to with a start, beside her, as she gently patted his face with a cool cloth.

"Shh. It's ok. You passed out."

He groaned, as much from embarrassment as pain.

"I gathered everything from your motel room, it's all here in the car. It's not safe for you there anymore; I'm taking you to my place."

"Oh. uh...you sure?"

She gave him a level stare. "Are you trustworthy?"

He smiled a little. "Sorta. Where are we, by the way?"

"Hospital parking. -Don't panic; I work here. I just need to pick up some stuff. I'll be back in five minutes or so. Don't steal my car."

He snorted. -_lime-green volkswagon-not a worry- _He debated whether it would be wise to try Sam's phone. He didn't want to do anything to antagonize those bastards, not if Sam was the one paying for it. He still felt shaky, and decidedly queasy. He wanted to scream over this new development; they were that close to having gathered the items from the list so they could trap the forest god, or whatever it was. But now, the irony was; Sam's well-being, maybe his life, hung in the balance and Dean was back to square one in solving the problem.

He thought about Abby. She seemed ok; kind enough. A nurse...she was probably pretty grounded. He had to decide how much he should reveal to her about Herne; he'd probably need her help to pull this off. But there were other aspects to consider too. Even if he could convince her that all this shit was true, she could just as easily figure that the god was a boon to her Gran's problem. It sure kept the development at a standstill while it flattened the poor bastards who worked for Badham. He'd have to convince her that everyone, including dear Granny; was in danger as long as this thing was loose. Sam certainly was.

* * *

><p>Abby returned with a bag of things. "When did you eat last?" she demanded.<p>

He remembered that Sam had gone out in search of dinner. "If you count a half a box of smarties and a quart of bourbon, a few hours ago."

She tsked. "No wonder you fainted. Here; it's cafeteria cordon bleu, eat it." She handed him a rubbery sub and a ginger ale. He devoured it gratefully, suddenly aware of his hunger. She settled in and drove to her apartment. Once there, she ushered him in and made him sit at the kitchen table while she emptied her bag.

"First of all, I got you a proper sling. Yours has style, but it doesn't support your shoulder properly." Disregarding his protest, she pulled the flowered pillowcase free and strapped him in to the blue hospital issue. He had to admit, it immediately relieved the aching pull. "I'm guessing that's a separation?" He nodded. "Ok. Now, while you were flat out, I had a little bit of a look at you. You're taped; did you hurt your ribs?"

"Uh huh. Cracked a couple, I'm pretty sure. Sam fixed me up, it's fine."

She scowled at him. "Hardly. For one thing, you shouldn't be taped all the way around; it restricts your breathing too much. And second; unless he's a medic or something, you'd better let me check it out." She undid his shirt buttons and unwound the wrap before he could argue.

"A bit pushy, aren't we?" he complained. He looked down at it and frowned. "Might need a dent-puller."

Abby snorted. "For what, your head or this? How can you even be walking around?" She examined him closely. "There's at least two ribs involved here. They're going to give you grief unless you get seen."

"No time. And they will either way. Trust me; I've done this before. I know the drill and I know the dangers. Hey, if it were up to me, I'd be comfortably unconscious for the next couple of days. But Badham has my brother. He thinks we're somehow behind whatever's going on in those woods, and he's holding him hostage as a safeguard. He says if more of his people get hurt, then Sam does." He stopped and drew a sharp breath as she pressed a rigid patch in place and taped it securely.

"Better?" she asked as she finished.

He gave her a strained little smile. "Better...sure, we can call it that." He refused her offer of painkillers, since he needed to stay sharp. But he accepted her offer of a drink.

She sat down at the table and poured whiskey for both of them. "Ok, now tell me...what really is going on in the Blackvale?"

-_and we're there_- "Ahhh...ok. I'm either gonna come across as a super-hero or a mental patient here. You're going to have to keep an open mind, and I mean _wide _open, and to trust me, ok? So here it is...My brother and I; we hunt...things. There's a whole other world out there, Abby; one that normal people are better off not knowing about. We came here to track down and stop the entity that's killing people in the Blackvale Wood."

"Entity? What, like a ghost...or something?"

"More like a deity; a demi-god. Look, I know how this sounds, but hear me out. I told you your grandmother mentioned some sort of stone mask that her dad brought over from England; have you seen it?"

"The creepy guy with antlers. Yeah; it's always been in the backyard."

"Well that thing has some serious history. It's a figure of Herne. Herne is a myth from ancient England; he appears as the antlered man, or a stag with red eyes. He protects his forest from harm, and while that may seem like a good thing, especially under the circumstances; in reality it's a volatile nightmare. This thing is more reactive than reasoning; it doesn't stop to think if the person it's about to stomp has good intentions or not; if they do anything in his woods, like disturb the earth, damage a tree, hell, pick berries for all I know; he'll come after them."

"A mythical English forest god. With antlers. Who stomps people in Vermont."

He put his head down in his hand and groaned. "I'm not doing mushrooms, Abby; this is real. And here's the truly crazy part; I think your grandmother is telling the truth. I think that she figured out how to summon it, hoping it would save the Blackvale. And she's in real danger, because she thinks she's controlling it, but this thing is a loose cannon." He raised his head to gauge her reaction. She was incredulous, leaning back in her chair with crossed arms. It didn't bode well. "Look, before you call 911, let me show you the research. I need my laptop-"

She got up and wordlessly retrieved it from amongst his things in the car. It took him a few moments; Sam knew the workings better. But when the file was displayed he turned the machine around and told her to read it. He spent a tense few moments as she absorbed the information. When she was through reading, she pushed the laptop back towards him and stared at him.

Finally she spoke. "Do you think this is funny? I don't know if you're deluded or some con artist, but I don't appreciate being lied to. Shit, at least you could have respected me enough to tell me something halfway believable. You know, I came to you for help; obviously that was a mistake!"

His own hackles rose. "Whoa! Get off your high horse, will you? Yeah, what I just told you is crazy by normal peoples' standards. But I'm not lying to you; if I was going to, do you really think I'd hand you a load of crap like _this_? Think about it for shits' sakes! I'm a total stranger to you, and I tell you about this obscure myth; but I know for a fact that the whole Herne story is something you already know all about! Don't sit there denying it; your Grandmother let it slip when she talked to us that you knew about it, and that you didn't want her to go around talking about it!"

"Yeah, because it's a fairytale and she's losing it!" she shouted.

Dean slumped in his seat, weary and defeated. "Look...forget I said anything. I appreciate your helping me so far. But I didn't ask to be taken here, so I'd appreciate a lift back to my motel. I'll contact the mother ship from there and teleport outa here." His voice was quiet, his strain was obvious. She watched him fading. She had to admit, as outlandish as his story was; Gran's corroborated it. And she realized that he would never have come up with something that stupid if he really wanted to deceive her. That left either him being deluded or... She sighed deeply, hating herself for doing what was so clearly the stupid thing.

"No... Let's go find your car. Whatever the hell you're involved in, it's still not safe where you were. Are you up to a drive around town? You look like you're about to drop again."

He nodded. "I have to get to my brother before another one dies in the Blackvale. Nobody will be going out there tonight anymore, but Badham will be sending them in first thing in the morning, and if they start cutting trees and digging holes, I guarantee you they won't be coming out. And that means Sam dies."

She knew that was truth; she was there when Badham threatened it. That part was very real, and very frightening. "Ok, let's go."

* * *

><p>As they drove, he wracked his brain over where to start.<p>

"Didn't you say your brother was going in to get take-out?" she asked. He nodded. "Well, what would he have looked for? We have a McDonalds, Burger King, couple of pizza places, a KFC-"

"KFC. He would have gone for a bucket of chicken, if he had a choice; start there."

She drove toward the location. "Will you recognize your car if we pass it? What kind of car is it?"

"It's impossible to miss. Black '67 Impala, it's a classic."

She had no idea what that would look like, but she didn't want to deflate his obvious pride over it. As she turned toward the Kentucky Fried Chicken building, he suddenly pointed. "There! There it is, on the right-" He barely waited for her car to stop rolling before he was out and opening the Impala. She parked and joined him.

Sure enough, the chicken was there on the seat; it still filled the car with a steamy, warm scent. He glanced over the interior, looking for signs of struggle, or god forbid, blood. There was none. The keys were still in the ignition. He guessed that Sam was probably being tailed, and they had accosted him as soon as he was parked. He noted the cedar box, and the copper sheets; at least he'd managed to get those. It meant that he had another way to keep Sam safe, other than finding and freeing him before morning, if he could gather the rest of what they needed and trap Herne. He fired the car up, feeling better in his rolling sanctuary.

"Follow me back." Abby ordered, turning toward her own car.

He nodded. -_pushy nurse- _he thought, not entirely unkindly.

* * *

><p>The return to her apartment brought an unwelcome shock. The door was open, clearly forced. Dean motioned to her to stay back as he pushed it open all the way and peered inside. As far as he could see, there was no one there. Everything was in disarray; someone had been in, and they'd pulled the place apart; searching, or simply for intimidation. He swore silently as he reached to his waistband, but realized that his gun was still under the motel pillow. Abby came up behind him as he walked the room.<p>

"Oh my god! I can't believe this!" she whispered in horror. He ignored her, checking the other rooms and closets. When he was satisfied they were empty, he sat down, exhausted.

"Abby, I think you'd better book off work for a few days. You need to go some place safe, until I finish this."

She snapped out of her stupor. "Are you crazy? This is _my_ goddamned place! They're not getting away with this! And you can barely stand, for god's sake! I'm not leaving now!" She blanched suddenly. "Oh god; Gran! She's in danger; if they're coming after me, they'll be going out there too!"

"Hang on, let's not panic here. I doubt it was you they were after; they probably found out I was here, and they still think I'm a consultant. Looks like they stole my computer; my guess is Badham was worried about what we'd learned about the Blackvale, that we might have found something that could stop work after all." He rubbed a hand over his face. "But I think it would be a good idea to check on her; maybe we should stay with her to make sure she stays safe."

"Yeah..." It was all she could manage to say.

They gathered some things and prepared to leave. "Abby, I need to stop back at the motel; I think there's something still left there-"

She turned away, retrieved her purse and wordlessly handed him his gun. "It was peeking out from under your pillow. I wasn't about to just hand it to you until I knew you were a safe bet."

"So I pass, then?"

"No, but you're my only bet right now." she half smiled.

As they prepared to drive out, he asked, "Do you need to call her, give her a heads up?"

She snorted. "Do have any idea what time it is? I'd give her a heart attack if I call her now!"

He didn't. He looked at his watch. It was pushing two in the morning. It brought home just how spent he felt. It was going to be a long night.

* * *

><p>Dean followed her in the Impala. He made good use of the chicken while he drove; the sub had been a help but he was still famished. But what he really needed was caffeine; he felt a little addled and he worried about what he still had to do. It was mere hours now until dawn, and he knew that as soon as the day began, people would be going into the Blackvale and both they and Sam were in equal jeopardy. His choices were to try to get the trap for Herne laid now, in the pitch dark; or try to deduce where the hell in the area Sam could possibly be held, and spring him. Both were equally impossible, and add to that the fact that his stamina had worn dangerously thin. He couldn't stand it anymore, he had to try Sam's cell. If he could manage to buy a day's grace from Badham he had a better chance of keeping everybody breathing.<p>

It was Gil Mason who answered. "What the hell do you want? You heard Mr. Badham."

Dean kept his temper in check; nothing short of a miracle. "Look, just hear me out! I'm trying to keep everybody safe here; can you let me talk to Badham?"

"He's not here. Only way you're gonna keep your kin safe is by leaving those workers alone so they can get on with it!"

"Can I talk to my brother? Please, I just need to-"

"He's busy napping. You call this phone again and I'll wake him up real quick, you got that, you-"

Mason's words were cut off, there was a muffled curse and a crash, and the phone went dead. "Mason? Answer me, asshole!" Dean dialed again, but this time he got Sam's voicemail immediately. He was just about ready to cry, but instead, he bellowed a couple of well-chosen curses. He had no idea what the hell was going on, but he hadn't gained any time.

* * *

><p>Sam stood over the prone form of his captor, panting and shaking his right hand. The bugger had a head of solid granite; he was pretty sure he sprained something. Felt damned good, though. Mason had hit him a few times while Sam was helpless, despite the fact that he did nothing to antagonize the brute. Just that type of guy...a bully. He kept a wary eye on the solid enforcer, as he caught his breath. After a moment, he stood up and and carefully picked up his phone. It was crushed; the batteries had skidded all over the floor, and the screen was shattered. It was useless. "Thanks alot, asshole!" he growled, giving one last kick to the bulk stretched in front of him. Mason groaned a little, and Sam took that as his cue to get the hell out of there.<p>

Once outside, he revelled in the cool breeze as it swept the hair back from his face. If he had any lack of clarity from being knocked out earlier, it had cleared now. He glanced around, happy that he was still in town, instead of somewhere out in the sticks. They'd blind-folded him after forcing him from the Impala, so he really had no clue where they'd taken him. But there was likely a phone somewhere nearby, and he set out to find one. He wondered how Dean was doing. Other than starving by now, just as he was. He fervently hoped he hadn't gone out and taken Badham on; not in the shape he was in. He now regretted telling him to keep going on the Herne trap; if he had gone into the forest alone, in this darkness...who knows what he could encounter. He quickened his pace.

He saw a few things that seemed familiar...he wasn't far from where they'd forced him from the car. He stopped and got his bearings, and took off at a jog in the direction he guessed would lead him to it. The streets were eerily quiet at this late hour. All the businesses were dark, but there were a few streetlights. He was almost in the fastfood strip when he caught sight of headlights turning his way. Not too many people would be driving around this late; it was more than likely either a cop, or Badham. He ducked into some bushes, crouching silently, until the car passed. It wasn't a patrol car, but it was driving slowly. He stayed there for a while, until his feet were numb from the awkward position. The car didn't return, and he extricated himself from the thorny shrubbery and continued on, warily. Finally the unmistakable chicken joint loomed in the darkness. His heart sank; even from here he could see that the car was no longer there. He swore quietly, and took stock. Without a map, he had no idea where a gas station or anything that would have a phone booth could be. He just picked a direction and followed the street.

* * *

><p>As they drove up the wooded lane that led to Hedda's cabin, Dean thought he caught a scent of something.-<em>Woodsmoke-<em>

He had a moment of panic until he remembered the pioneer quality of life Hedda lchose to live; she heated and cooked with wood. The only place suitable for both cars was a spot half way along the lane; he parked behind Abby and they hurried the remainder of the way down to the little house. He caught a glimpse of it through the trees; it was oddly back-lit, by a flickering orange light. They could hear Beowulf barking madly as the strong and acrid odour of smoke suddenly hit both of them. Abby glanced fearfully at Dean and they took off at a run.

As they rounded the corner, they saw Hedda, in her nightdress, furiously pumping water into a bucket as flames began to take hold of the attached woodshed at the rear of the cabin. Beowulf rushed Dean, but he ignored him and yelled to Abby to get her grandmother to safety, as he pulled his arm free of the sling, took over the pump and filled the pail full. He dashed to the shed and dumped his water, turning around to repeat the task as Abby joined him. He threw his keys to her. "Fire extinguisher, in the trunk!" She nodded and ran back to retrieve it. Dean pumped as fast as he could, coughing as the smoke thickened and curled around him, and ran to dump it on the growing flames again.

The shed was filled with dry, split birch; nothing burned better, or hotter. The papery white bark crackled and spit as it caught. Dean poured bucket after bucket, frantically trying to keep the fire at bay before it touched off the tinderbox of old white pine that made up the cabin. He stumbled several times, blinded by the smoke as his eyes streamed, and Abby rejoined him with the extinguisher. She took over the water duty as he blasted the flames with a smothering fog. Poor Hedda stood with her hands held to her mouth, shivering in her wet flannel as she watched in horror.

Their combined efforts brought the fire down, and as the extinguisher was emptied, Dean joined Abby in pouring water and pulling the remaining wood away from the wall until no hot spots remained and the woodshed was soaked and left merely hissing with steam. The structure, and its contents, were a write-off, but they'd saved the house. As they stood back, gasping, they watched for a few moments, making sure there were no flare-ups. Abby turned to him with shining eyes. "Thank-you!"

He stood beside her, bent, with his hands on his thighs; coughing and struggling to breathe normally. He reached out and leaned toward her, and she thought for a moment he was going to hug her. Instead, he fell heavily against her, slipped down and sprawled on the grass. He had no reserves left, and this last effort taxed him beyond his limit.

Hedda had no idea yet who her saviour was, but seeing him fall to the ground galvanized her and she rushed forward, her fear and shock all but forgotten. The two women dragged and carried him into the house and laid him out on Hedda's bed. He protested weakly as Abby quickly stripped him of his wet shirt and jacket, and checked him over while Hedda put some water on to heat. By the time the older woman returned, he'd given in to exhaustion. "Who is he?" she asked, peering at him.

"You met him earlier, Gran; he's one of the environmental consultants you turned away. You don't recognize him now with the soot and the bruises." Abby removed the patch from his side to make sure he wasn't injured further. She replaced it, satisfied it was solely his exhaustion that brought him down. She wasn't surprised that he'd dropped; the body has limits, and she was grateful he'd been able to carry on as long as he had. It certainly made the difference tonight. She turned her attention to the older woman. "Gran, are you ok? You're soaked-"

"I'm alright, dear. I'll just dry off quickly; watch the kettle." She gathered some dry things from the room and left, returning moments later, warmly dressed. "Your turn, Abby. There's a towel in the kitchen and plenty of Grandpa Peter's shirts and jackets in the closet." Hedda sat beside her hero while Abby scrubbed the ash from her face and hands and donned one of her late grandfather's heavy flannel shirts. The kettle had begun to whistle, Abby made tea with the water and filled a bowl with the rest. She returned with it and pulled another chair to the bedside.

"Well, that was a bit of excitement, wasn't it?" Hedda said. Her voice quavered, but she was her old strong self. She took the cloth and gently washed his face. "My lord! What did he get himself into?"

"Not what; _who_. It was James Badham. He heard these two were wildlife consultants and that they spoke to you. I guess he was worried that you hired them to stop the development, so he had him beaten. They're holding his brother captive right now."

"What? Oh no! Oh that slimy rat! I'll kick his fat arse to hell, I swear I will!"

"Gran!" Abby couldn't help but laugh a little.

"Sorry, dear. But really, it's about time he had his comeuppance. I should send that Herne out to _his_ backyard; see what he says to that!"

Abby snapped up and stared at her. "What did you say?"

Hedda realized her slip. "Nothing, dear...just mumbling to myself. I'll pour the tea."

Abby had heard it loud and clear. Gran had never actually used the name before; she'd just referred to it in general. And from her quick reaction and nervous exit, it was clear she knew a damned sight more about it. Abby vowed to grill her about it when Dean was alert to hear it. Hedda returned with a tray. She looked at her quiet guest sadly. "Poor thing. All this because of me... Do you think he'll be alright?"

Abby nodded. "He's hurt, but he'll mend. I get the sense he knows his way through this sort of thing. Right now he just needs to rest. Gran, what happened here tonight?"

Hedda frowned, reliving the trauma. "Well, I'd been in bed for a while when Beo started barking up a storm. I ignored him for as long as I could; I thought he was just smelling raccoons again. But he wouldn't stop. I should have paid him mind earlier, but by the time I finally got up and went out to see what he was on about, the shed was burning. It hadn't been going long, or I'd have been roasted in my bed. So I fetched a bucket and started dousing it, but once all that good, dry stove wood caught, it went up like a funeral pyre. That's about when you showed up, thank goodness. What brought you out at this hour, anyway?"

"I'd gone to see these two consultants, to see what they could do about preserving the Blackvale. Dean was there alone, and while I was there he got the call from Badham that his brother was in their hands. He was already in rough shape, thanks to his earlier encounter with Badham. I took him to my apartment because it was safer, and we went in search of his car in town. After we found it, we went back, but my place was ransacked. At that point, we thought it best to look in on you. Gran; Badham all but threatened your life when he was talking to Dean. This is serious; and now it seems they tried to burn you out tonight."

Hedda frowned. "Damn him! This is my fight; I can't stand the thought that others are suffering because of it. These young men came by earlier just to offer their professional services, and I declined. I suppose that rat saw them as a serious threat. Ugh! I've half a mind to dig out your grampa's gun!"

Abby couldn't wait any more. She looked her grandmother in the eye. "Gran; tell me about Herne."

The old woman's expression became a blank mask. "I don't know what your talking about, Dear. Shall I refresh your cup?"

Abby clamped a hand on her arm. "No you don't! You stay right there and tell me the truth. Dean told me a story tonight. It's crazy; he said there's some unnatural thing in these woods, and it's killing innocent people."

"None of them were innocent!" Hedda retorted. "They're all Badham's puppets. They deserved whatever they got!"

Abby stared at her in horror. -_can't be possible- _"You know as well as I do that these people around here are all under his thumb. They suffered horribly, Gran. Brutal, awful deaths. And what about poor Mike Hawley? Was he just another one who deserved to die?"

"Mike? Young Mike is dead?"

"Just hours ago. He was attacked by the same creature, the same thing that killed the others. I think you'd better tell me what you know of all this."

Hedda had gone white as a sheet. "No...oh no! Oh I never meant for anyone to be harmed..oh...his poor father!" She began to weep. Poor old Sean Hawley doted on his boy, he'd already lost a wife and another young son in years past. This would put him in his grave.

Abby prodded, "Tell me what's going on here, Gran."

Hedda nodded miserably." Well...you'll think I've gone mad, but I haven't, I assure you. " She sighed and continued. "You know the stone mask, out in the flowerbed? I told you how your great grandad brought it here, long ago, from England. Well, he always joked that there was a spirit inside it, and if we misbehaved, he'd summon him to set us straight. We always laughed, of course. Well, when this nonsense with Badham started, I thought I should go through my things, in case I had to pick up and move. I was clearing out the drive shed; all of your Grandpa Peter's old things, and my old dad's, were still stored in boxes. I thought I could at least sort out some things that could go to the charity shops. I came across an old book; I remember Dad telling of how he had picked it out of the dustbin when he was still at the Vicarage. I thought well; being so old, perhaps it was worth something, so I brought it into the house and had a look through it. Well, there it was, amidst all these symbols and Latin and such; the story of Herne, and a drawing of the stone mask right there. It had a summoning passage, it said the forest god could be made flesh if certain things were collected and offered, and the words said over the stone. Well, I thought it was rubbish, but Badham was under my skin that day, so I thought, what the heck, I'll give it a try. If Herne could be brought here to protect the Blackvale..."

"Are you telling me that this insane story is real? That you actually brought this thing here?" Abby whispered in horror.

Hedda nodded. "Herne. In the flesh, so to speak. I thought he was perfect; I needed him, the Blackvale Wood needed him. I never knew what it would do. I would never have conjured it if I'd known. God knows, I've tried to call it home, but it doesn't heed me. I can't control it."

Abby leaned back and shook her head. in shock. "I...I called him deluded, a con artist! Good god, Dean really was telling me the truth!"

"Well, if he told you what I've just done, then yes he was. Odd that he would know of these things."

"Gran, they're not really environmental experts; they're here to eliminate the thing you brought here. I don't know what they are, exactly. An hour ago I would have said lunatics. But Dean said that this is what they do, he and Sam; they hunt things like this."

"Oh...they've come to kill him then." Hedda frowned in confusion for a moment, but she shrugged it off and cocked her head. "Now I really am going mad; Abby, do you hear a radio, or music from somewhere?"

Abby listened. "No...I hear it too. It's coming from the yard. I'll go look." She got up and searched the ground as the music grew progressively louder. She pinpointed it. It was a cell phone; Dean must have lost it when he fell. She answered it. "Hello?" she said nervously. She hoped it wasn't anyone nasty, she was still shaken by the night's events.

"_Who is this?" _the voice demanded.

He didn't sound friendly. "I'm...I'm Abby Fines. Are you calling for Dean Winch? He can't come to the phone, but I can take a message-"

"_Why can't he talk? What the hell's going on?"_

Abby wasn't sure what to say to the agitated caller. "He's...resting right now. I can have him call you back when he's awake. Who is this?"

"_It's his brother, Sam!"_


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

"Oh, thank god! Dean said Badham was holding you, are you alright?"

Sam had no idea who she was, but she didn't sound like another adversary. _"Yeah, I'm ok. What's going on with Dean? Who are you?"_

Abby filled him in on what he'd missed while he was in Badham's hands. He in turn gave a brief account of his own busy night. Sam had been taken from the Impala to a storage room at the hunting shop, where he was tied and roughed up. He feigned being unconscious, all the while working at loosening his bonds. When Mason was distracted by Dean's call, Sam had chosen to take the opportunity. He threw himself at the big man, and after some struggle, managed to bash his block-head against the concrete, knocking him out cold.

Abby knew that Dean would be very relieved to know his brother was safe. "I'll come out and get you; where are you?''

_"I'm just in some park...there's a fountain, and some kind of gazebo, or band stand."_

"Ok, I know the spot. Stay out of sight, Sam; Badham will be looking and you can't trust anybody right now. I'll be about twenty minutes, I'm driving a bright green bug."

_"Thanks."_ he said, grateful for a friendly contact.

Abby came in, grabbed her keys and coat, and checked in on Dean and Hedda. "It was Dean's phone; his brother got free. I'm picking him up down town. Gran, if he wakes, let him know Sam's safe, ok? I'll be back in no more than an hour."

"Well, at least that's some good news. Oh Abby, please, be careful. Herne aside, this whole thing is getting way out of hand."

-_you think?- _Abby checked Dean's wet coat, relieved to find his gun. She handed it to her grandmother. "Ever used anything like that?"

"No...well, just Grandpa Peter's twenty-two. But I can manage the kick from that, so this shouldn't be too hard.. Hurry, dear!"

Abby nodded. "Gran, wake him, if you need to. If those bastards try anything else tonight-"

"We'll be fine! Now go!"

Hedda watched as her granddaughter jogged up the lane. She was relieved that Abby had provided her with the gun. She examined it for a moment, figuring out how to use it. It made what she needed to do next so much easier.

* * *

><p>Abby drove slowly around the park. She was terrified that Badham and his minions would be watching, and this Sam person was a stranger to her, but Gran had described him. She scanned the benches, the walkway, the trees at the edge of the grass. It was so damned dark, her headlights made shadows that made her tense with nerves. She was about to give up, when a man darted out, looked furtively around, and waved. She pulled over.<p>

"Abby?" he asked, approaching her passenger side door.

She looked him over. He was nothing like his brother, although they shared similar shiners. He was taller, darker, but the description fit.

"Sam?"

He nodded and got in. "Thanks for this." he said. " It's been kind of a rough night."

Abby smiled in relief. "Your brother will breathe a hell of alot easier when he sees you. He was in a frothing panic when you were taken. You're ok, then?"

"Yeah...nothing lethal. How's Dean?"

"God...where to start. He's sleeping right now, I left him with my grandmother. He passed out after he took the call from Badham that he had you; I took him to my apartment, because I figured it was safer there, and I could check him over; it's the nurse in me. We went out to look for the Impala, and when we got back, my place was broken into. Dean thought we should check on Gran, so we drove out, and when we got there she was trying to put out a fire in her woodshed. Dean and I got it under control, and after that, he was just... so done in, he just dropped in the grass. I checked him over; he isn't any worse off than when you left him. But he's flat out in the cabin. I didn't want to wake him; he really needed rest, especially after the fire."

Sam's expression tightened, and he swore under his breath.

Abby continued, "Sam; between Dean and Gran, I know all about the Herne thing. I'm probably certifiable along with the rest of you, but I believe now that it's real." She sighed. "Do you think we can get rid of it? Gran never knew what it was she was calling, she never meant to hurt anyone. But she knows we have to find a way, especially after what happened to poor Mike, and the others. Dean was so worried, not just because of what it meant to your safety, but that more people were going to die in the Blackvale, people who were just doing what they were being forced to."

Sam was very relieved that he could discuss it with her. "Dean and I were working on something, a way to trap it. We have a friend with a huge collection of books on things like this and he gave us the information. That's what Dean was doing out in the Blackvale; he was collecting some of the elements we need for this. I don't know yet if he managed to find anything before they got him. I had to go to Burlington to buy the other things."

"Oh. So there is a way. Good." There wasn't much else she could say to that.

"Your fire tonight; do you think it was Badham?"

"No doubt. There's no other reason for the shed to start burning; there's no power to it and it's not like we had any lightning. Gran said the dog was going nuts for a while, but she ignored him. He barks at raccoons alot, when they come around at night. She almost left it too late; if she hadn't got some water on it, the whole place would have gone up before we got there. Your brother was ...he was so..." She had to stop speaking; her emotions bubbled to the surface and she wiped at her eyes. "He saved that house, Sam. I don't know where he dug the strength from, but without him Badham would have won tonight."

Sam smiled to himself.

She continued, "Thank god you got away! You know, he was still planning to solve this tonight; especially with Badham threatening your life. He got side-tracked by the fire. He was so exhausted and hurt; he would've killed himself trying, I'm sure. Here's the laneway." She turned into the dark entrance and drove until the Impala loomed into view. She parked behind it.

Sam saw it with overwhelming relief. "Man, I'm glad it was you who picked up the car. I saw it was gone from where I left it, and I figured they took it. Dean would have been devastated if anything happened to it."

She smiled, remembering Dean's obvious pride over the car. "Yeah, I had a feeling it meant a lot to him."

They had walked only a few yards when they heard the shot.

* * *

><p>Hedda had felt a strange agitation the moment Abby told her they were here to hunt Herne.<p>

She was rational; she knew it was necessary, it was the right thing, and she knew she owed a great deal to the young man asleep in her bed. And she knew the forest god was responsible for killing good people. But somehow there was another part of her; a wordless voice in her head...it pressed her, urgently, to stop them. It drove her to feel an anxious need to protect what she had brought forth. That feeling was stronger than her logic, stronger than love or loyalty or gratitude. It flooded her like a rabid, maternal protectiveness, pushing the conscience and logic aside and taking hold of what remained, directing her hands, her actions. It was if she watched, saddened, from a distance, as this unpleasant but necessary task was carried out. It was her duty to see that Herne, the God of the Hunt, would not be allowed to become the prey. She picked up the heavy gun; Dean's gun, and quietly carried it to the bedroom.

* * *

><p>Dean could sleep through any ungodly sound an alarm clock could deliver. But there were a few sounds that instantly penetrated his subconscious. One was Sam's dream-tortured voice at night. Another was the distinctive rumble of the Impala's engine. But the third and most important one, at least today, was the unmistakable sound of the cocking of a gun.<p>

His eyes flew open, and barely cognizant, he instinctively rolled away from the threat. His quick reaction saved him; he hit the floor just as he was deafened by the report, as the acrid smell of sulpher and singed feathers from the unfortunate pillow reached his nostrils. He barely had time to curse before Hedda raised her hand to aim again.

He dove for the door, grabbing the edge of a nearby table and flinging it down behind him. It blocked Hedda's path momentarily, and she had to pull it away to get a clean shot. He fled outside and paused, breathless and frazzled, behind the still smouldering woodshed. Tense and shivering in the dark, and clad only in his jeans and socks, he tried to grasp what the hell just happened. He could hear her mumbling to herself as she left the cabin in search of him. She was arguing; he couldn't catch all of it, but it sounded like she was pleading with her self to stop. -_psychotic old biddy!_- He prayed she'd keep talking to herself; at least he could tell where she was. At her age, he could easily outrun her, but with his gun in her hand, she had the distinct advantage.

He pressed his arm to his aching side, blinking his watering eyes clear. It was a rude awakening, and he grimaced at the lancing pain that his panicked breathing brought. He managed to calm down a little, but he no longer heard Hedda. He took a chance at calling out to her. "Hedda! Why are you doing this?"

He heard her answer, coming from his left. "I'm sorry dear, I really am. But you mean him harm, and I have to protect him!" She continued to mumble; Good Hedda debating the Bad. He crept away from her, easing back around the cabin. Unfortunately, Beowulf had joined him, and nervous of his stealthy movements, the big dog planted his feet in front of him and barked furiously. It was better than a neon arrow pointing at his head. He swatted at the dog, trying to shush him, but to Beowulf, the game was on, and he dropped to his elbows in play and barked joyfully. Dean couldn't hear a damn thing as Hedda stepped lightly around the woodshed and took aim again.

Dean caught the momentary change in the dog's focus, and he flattened and rolled as the second shot tore splinters of wood from the log where he'd stood seconds earlier. He and Hedda cursed in unison as Dean sprinted around to the other side of the cabin. She had damned good aim for a woman her age. There was no other cover for him; he'd have to keep circling ahead of her, and he knew this ridiculous cat and mouse game was only going to end when she ran out of bullets or shot him. As he panted and tried to plan, he looked up in dismay. The sky was beginning to lighten. Morning was about to break, and if they started work in the Blackvale, Sam was _screwed_.

Enough was enough; he wasn't going to play anymore. He counted to ten, gathered what strength he had left, and launched himself at a full run around the woodshed again, hoping to catch her off guard and tackle her. Rounding the dark corner, he skidded and plowed into a solid wall of muscle. The impact dropped him with a hollow thud onto the mossy lawn, flat on his back, winded and trying very hard to comprehend the spinning image that hovered over him.

"Sammy?"

* * *

><p>Sam nodded and clamped his hand over Dean's mouth to stop him from speaking. He looked around nervously and whispered, "Are you hurt?" Dean assured him he was alright and pointed to where Hedda had been last, whispering that it was the old woman who was after him. Sam nodded. Urging Dean to stay down, he crept around the wall. Abby was waiting amongst the trees, as Sam had instructed. She was terrified that Badham had decided to be more proactive regarding his threat towards her grandmother, and she tried to screw up her courage to leave the safety of her cover. When she heard the third shot she screamed her Gran's name.<p>

Hedda turned and answered. "Stay where you are, dear! I'll be done here in a moment!"

"Are you alright?" Abby shouted, frantically "What's happening? Who's shooting at you?"

"I'm fine, dear!" Hedda called out, annoyed. "Just sit tight. As soon as my Herne is safe, we can have some tea."

Abby was sure she heard wrong. "Gran?" The response was another ringing shot. Abby heard a muffled yell, and then the dull sound of bodies hitting the earth and struggling. She heard some decidedly un-grandmotherly words from Hedda.

"Abby!" Sam yelled. "Around back! It's safe, come and help me!"

* * *

><p>Abby fled her hiding place and ran around the woodshed. She was met by a bizarre sight. Sam straddled her grandmother, holding her arms and pinning her, as the old woman cursed and writhed like a wildcat. He pried the gun from her hand and threw it out of reach.<p>

"What are you doing?" Abby shrieked. She grabbed his shoulder and tried to pull him away. "Get off her! You're hurting her!"

Sam yelped and pushed her away. "Don't! She was trying to shoot Dean! I'm just holding her, I'm not hurting her. Please Abby, go find him!"

Abby stepped back, torn; but she did as he asked, and circled the building. She found Dean, struggling to rise from where he'd fallen. She helped him to his feet, and he leaned against the log wall, trying to slow his spinning world and avoid being sick after his collision with Sam.

Feeling a slippery sensation, she looked down at her hand. She was shocked to see that it was slick with blood. "Dean, you're bleeding! Oh my god!"

"No," he coughed, "Must be Sam!"

She ran back to where she left him as Dean struggled to follow.

"Abby, sit on her! Don't let her up!" Sam said hoarsely, as she crouched beside them. "Herne's got in her head somehow; she's trying to protect him!" He was swaying, and he slumped over onto the grass with a groan. Abby froze, dumbfounded, and Hedda pushed him the rest of the way off her and held her hand out to her grand daughter.

"Help me, dear! Get the gun; I have to keep him safe!"

Abby took her hand, but she didn't pull her up. Hedda wailed with anger as her granddaughter grabbed the other hand and pulled her arms behind her, holding her securely as Dean stumbled up beside them. He rolled Sam over, searching him for injury.

"Sam! Sam, talk to me, are you ok?"

"It's alright Dean, she just winged me." Sam growled, sitting up and clutching his bloodied arm. "Help Abby with her."

* * *

><p>The group struggled and cursed their way into the house, where Dean tied Hedda to a chair. The poor woman alternated between crying and begging their forgiveness, and cursing them, demanding they free her. She was so vocal in her protests that Dean finally dragged her, chair and all, and closed her in her bedroom. Poor Abby burst into tears at the shock and insanity of it all. Dean checked Sam's injury, and was relieved that it was just a nasty graze. It bled like something worse, and the young hunter wasn't as seasoned as his brother, and he was ashen and still feeling faint. Dean kept pressure on it until he was satisfied that the bleeding had slowed to a safe trickle. He turned to Abby. "Look, can you take care of this? You're the expert, and I have to talk to your grandmother."<p>

She nodded, wiped her red rimmed eyes. She retrieved a first aid kit, and took over.

Dean entered Hedda's room, and closed the door behind him. Hedda stared daggers at him. He tried hard to swallow his anger. It wasn't her fault, he knew she couldn't resist the influence. But he also knew it was her hand that had hurt his brother, and that was something he found very hard to forgive. He sat down in front of her and looked at her sternly. "Ok, Hedda...we're gonna put an end to all this. Herne is dangerous. We're going to send him away. It won't hurt him, or you. But he doesn't belong here, do you understand?"

She nodded, fear and confusion raw in her eyes. But her demeanor changed, and she grew harsh again. "You have no right! Stay away from him, you filthy gnat! The Blackvale is his, just as I am!"

Dean sighed. Herne was definitely driving the bus. He couldn't keep her tied here indefinitely; they had to set the trap, as soon as possible. He saw that she wore a band of gold on a chain around her neck. It was her late husband's wedding band. He knew that the offering of gold was the one element missing from their list. He felt bad; it was obviously something of great sentimental value, but he had to take the opportunity that was presented. He leaned forward and gently undid the clasp, pulling it away and slipping the precious thing into his jean pocket.

"Peter." Hedda whispered, tears welling.

He answered her gently. "I know. But I need this, to make things right again. I don't think he'll mind."

She nodded and smiled briefly, but the other force within her prevailed, and she began spewing vitriole again. He left her and returned to the kitchen.

* * *

><p>Abby looked up at him; her need for answers plainly written on her face. Sam was patched up, and feeling a little better. "Dean; what the hell's going on?"<p>

Dean sat down wearily. "After Abby went to pick you up, Hedda took my gun and nearly blew my brains out. I guess when she figured out that we were coming for Herne, something kicked in. She brought him here, and there's obviously some kind of connection between them. She's aware that something beyond her control is driving her; she was apologizing the whole time she was shooting at me. But we can't let her loose until we have this thing caught, or she'll try something else. And we can't keep her tied up for days...we have to do this now."

Abby was wide eyed. "But...will she be normal...after?"

"I don't know. But I would guess that his hold on her will break if he's gone. The real Hedda's right in there, hating what she's doing; but his influence is making her do it anyway. Sam; we need to put the stuff together and find that tree, as soon as we can. Plus, when they start coming in to the Blackvale to work for Badham, all hell's gonna break loose."

Sam sighed. "You up to this, Dean?"

He snorted. "Are you-?"

Abby wanted to do anything she could to help as well. "Sam, do you still have that printout about the nightshade?" Dean asked.

"Yeah, in the car some where."

"Good. Abby; this won't be easy, but I think it's important to protect the morons who are working for Badham. You don't have to do this; they're probably going to give you a hassle, but it would be good if someone could warn them. Show them the picture of the plant, and look for it yourself, if you can. If they carry some of that on them, then Herne will leave them alone. It's simple but it works; it repels him. Do what you can, but don't take any abuse; if it gets nasty, just post the picture with a note and get the hell out of there. It's all we can do right now."

She nodded hesitantly, then with conviction. "Hey, I'm a nurse; I think I can take'em."

Dean smiled at her. and it transformed him briefly. He'd been so grim so far; she was surprised at how attractive he was, even with the raccoon eyes.

Sam got up. "I'm going out to the car to get the box and stuff. Do we need anything else?"

"Flashlights. And I need ammunition. And you'd better grab some firepower yourself. It won't help you with Herne but it'll make any other threats think twice."

Sam went out to retrieve the items.

Abby turned to Dean. "How dangerous is this going to be? Are you sure you should do this? I mean...you didn't start this mess."

He shrugged and grinned. "Hell, it's just an average workday for us, Abby. If it wasn't here, and if it wasn't Herne...it'd be some other place with a different freak."

"But you were hurt, because of us.." She was still upset, her eyes were brimming again.

"Abby, look at me. I'm a big boy; I know what I'm getting into. Hell, you saw for yourself, I've got all kinds of dents and scars. Hardly a job goes by where I don't add a new one. Trust me, I've had worse." There was that boyish smile again.

She glanced at his bare torso. He was right; it looked like someone had carved runes all over a bruised nectarine. "Ok." she said, trying to smile back. "I got it. I'm not your mom, and you're a hopeless masochist."

"There ya go." he said, rising. "And by the way; I'm getting a little shy, not to mention chilly here, without a shirt. Can I borrow some of those clothes in that closet?"

"Yeah, of course!" She grabbed a huge soft plaid shirt and a lumberjack style coat and helped him with them. "Sorry, they're kinda roomy. Grampa Peter was a big old guy." She put the sling back on him. " I know you'll take it off as soon as my back is turned, but humour me."

* * *

><p>Sam came back with his arms full. He dropped the box of slugs and the other gun on the counter, and the cedar box and copper on the table. He handed the paper to Abby. "That's the plant they need to carry." He pulled out a handful of limp greenery, leftovers from when Dean and he had collected it, dropping it beside the box. " Here; this is some of it. It's hard to recognize because it's wilted, but it'll still work. It's poisonous; but not to touch, just keep it in your pocket." He put some into his own, and left the rest for them. "Dean, did you manage to collect anything before they got hold of you?"<p>

"Whatever I collected should still be in my coat pocket; I got the juniper, the moss, ...and I guess that was it. I was about to get the acorns when the lights went out. Only other thing was the pine sap."

"There's a big scotch pine a few yards beyond the edge of the lawn, holding up Gran's clothes line. She's always mad that it drips on her clean laundry."

"Good. So who gets to do the climbing?" Dean asked, wincing with some exaggeration.

"Flip you for it." Sam offered.

"Idiots!" Abby growled. "_I'll_ do the climbing. One of you can watch while I'm up the tree to make sure nothing or no one comes after me. But I'm going to check on Gran first."

Dean offered to do the watching. While they waited for Abby, Sam sat down to figure out how to line the box with the copper. The sheets were very soft and pliable; he had no trouble bending them to fit. He crimped the edges to seal it, and slid it over to Dean for his approval, who snorted. "Good job. You win the ribbon for Full Contact Arts & Crafts." They heard a crescendo of voices in the bedroom, and Abby came out and shut the door behind her. She looked stricken, but she held her emotions in check. "God, I hope this works out." she said, simply. She didn't want to have _Granny Jekyll & Hyde_ committed.

Dean distracted her with a tired sigh. "C'mon, Abby; let's go scrape a tree."


	7. Chapter 7

7

The Blackvale Wood had a name, but that was the only distinction between it and Hedda's bordering property. Hers was a continuation of the same unbroken natural landscape. To the fauna that lived within it's confines, there was no delineating line. Man's divisions of ownership were meaningless. Hedda regularly had deer in her yard, as well as raccoons, coyotes, all manner of birds. She even had a black bear visit warily for a season or two. It was part of the charm of the place that she loved so well.

But now there were other, more dangerous things that also recognized no border.

Dean did the snaps up on the tent of a coat. Old Peter must've been a giant. The coat was warm wool, and it was so densely woven that it was like thick felt...you couldn't get anything like that nowadays. He was chilled after his escapade with Hedda, and the tiredness he'd been trying to ignore was weighing heavily on him now. He trudged in silence behind Abby as she led the way to the pine. It was beyond the edge of the clearing by several yards; the clothesline snaking through the branches toward it's hidden trunk.

"Need a boost?" he asked, as they looked up into the tree.

"Nope. Relax. This will only take a few minutes." She hoisted herself up to the first limb, and climbed up twenty feet or so. There was a branch torn out of the trunk there, the hollow it left was oozing fragrant, sticky sap. Abby took a penknife and scraped as much as she could, and managed to get it into a baggy. It didn't look like much, and she climbed higher to another patch of it.

* * *

><p>Sam found the things Dean had managed to collect. He shook them out into the box, spreading the moss over the bottom. He then took the vial they'd bought at the hunt shop, uncapped it and emptied it's reeking contents over the sphagnum as he went over the list in his mind. When they got back with the sap, he would spread it over the edges, and that left the acorns, which he knew would be at the place he had to go to set the trap. He wrinkled his nose in distaste; Herne sure had some weird fetishes. Suddenly it struck him. They were missing one crucial element; the gold offering. -<em>Shit- <em>He'd have to ask Abby if she or Hedda had anything they could use.

A sound caught his attention. It came from behind the closed door. Sam got up to check on Hedda, and he found her humming a strange archaic tune, eyes tightly closed. She ignored him, and she mouthed words in silence, then continued her song. Sam watched her silently. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise.

* * *

><p>Dean yawned and hugged his arms close, shivering. "How are you making out?"<p>

"Ok. I got a little, but I see some more." She leaned awkwardly to scrape off another blob of the stuff, when movement caught her eye. She pushed the needles out of the way to peer deeper into the trees. She froze suddenly. "Dean!" she whispered sharply. He snapped out of his lethargy at her tone. "I see something...it's big; moving, over there!" She pointed to where the plants were in motion a second ago. He squinted into the shadows, tense with worry. They'd left the nightshade behind on the table...he never expected they might need it right here at the edge of the yard. He too saw something. It didn't reveal itself in the darkness, but he caught a momentary movement, and he stared hard at it. It turned as he watched, and he saw a flash of eerie red-

"Shit! Abby, stay where you are!"

The words had barely left his mouth when the glowing eyes fixed on him, and the creature bore down on him. Abby screamed as it collided with Dean, sending him sprawling with a pained grunt into the undergrowth. All she saw was a huge black shape; amorphous in the deep velvet shadows. Dean scrambled to his feet and tried to call Sam, but it smashed into him again as Abby screamed hysterically. She looked frantically to the house and saw Sam's silhouette in the light of the doorway and she screamed his name over the crashing sounds in the brush.

Dean rolled and held his arms over his face, trying to fend it off. The thing may have been ethereal in origin, but it was certainly solid and earthly now. The cloven hooves came down hard, like sharpened spades; the massive antlers raking and stabbing at his belly. It was trying to disembowel him, as it had the others. Dean kicked at it in desperation but it was relentless. The only thing he saw clearly was the red fluorescence from its eyes as it flung its head around. He felt a suffocating blow; a sharp ivory tine hooked into his throat and tore out as he desperately tried to deflect the limbs spearing down into his body. The attack was surreal; the only sounds came from his own struggle and it's snorting breath, and the snapping and rustling of the undergrowth as he rolled away from the slashing hooves and antlers that ripped at his clothing and flesh. Abby clamped her hands over her ears, sobbing; she couldn't bear his agonized cries.

* * *

><p>Sam never ran so fast in all his life. The moment he heard Abby's terrified voice, he grabbed the nightshade from the table and bolted outside. He crossed the yard in seconds, and crashed through the undergrowth towards them. He looked around frantically as his eyes adjusted to the murky twilight, while he heard the dark figures thrashing amongst the trees. Without thinking, he dove into the fray. He threw himself between the spectral creature and Dean, clutching the wilted nightshade in his outstretched hand as the unearthly thing charged and snorted in fury. It stopped short and backed away, circling several times, trying to get to its prey. Sam was terrified, but he turned with it, and continued to thwart it with the plant held out in his trembling grip. Thank god they'd gotten that advice from Bobby; the reference had seemed like a mere footnote but it had turned out to be of vital importance. Herne tossed his head from side to side, tearing at the earth in frustration, but Sam stared it down, his nerve unwavering. It seemed like an eternity, his muscles burned with the exertion of holding his arm outstretched. The ragged sound of Dean's gasps cut him to his core. He wanted desperately to help him, but he didn't dare break the spell; the stalemate between he and Herne was keeping them alive. He kept his other hand on Dean's shoulder, and he could feel him writhing, his suffering intensifying as the stand-off dragged on. He dared to glance at him once, terrified that he was choking to death, but the stag lunged, and he was forced to tear his gaze away from his brother and lock eyes with it again, waving at it and forcing it back. Finally, he couldn't take it any more; he charged at it, forcing it to give ground, as he screamed at it to leave them alone. It snorted and stamped threateningly, but finally it backed away. As it retreated to the darker shadows, It's shape changed, and it briefly took the form of a hooded, horned man as it melted into the trees.<p>

Sam let his arm fall, swallowing hard, his mouth dry. He pushed the plant into a pocket, turned and knelt beside his brother. He was terrified Dean would succumb to his injuries and die there on the forest floor. Abby dropped down from her safe perch and ran to him.

"Aw, man...stay with me, Dean, please-" he begged, as he hugged Dean's blood spattered body close. Dean was wheezing with an alarming sound; he clawed at Sam's sleeve convulsively. He tensed and groaned as the wounds Herne had inflicted flooded him with pain, and he choked Sam's name several times as if that mantra was all that kept the darkness at bay. There was blood everywhere; his face and hands were flecked with red, his torn clothing stained dark with it. His eyes were wide with shock, but they fluttered and closed as Sam watched. "Dean!" His body relaxed in his arms, and his grip fell away from Sam's sleeve. The forest grew silent in the aftermath.

"No...no..." Sam sobbed, rocking in despair as he held him tightly to his chest.

Despite her horror, Abby's training kicked in. "Move!" she barked with authority. But he was stunned into inaction, and she gripped his shoulders and forced him away from Dean, pressing her fingers to his slick and bloody throat. She found his pulse, still strong but fast. The wound at his throat was bleeding heavily but it wasn't his jugular, or he'd be dead already. She quickly pulled the coat open and pushed away the shredded, blood-soaked shirt. There were gashes torn into his chest and stomach, his arms; but thanks to the thick felted fabric, none seemed to have gone much deeper than skin. The lightning-fast attack had done it's damage, but Dean was undoubtedly saved from an ugly death by the heavy woolen coat. If he'd been wearing the cotton jacket Abby had stripped from him earlier, they'd be mourning him now.

"Can you carry him?" she asked urgently. Sam nodded, scooped him up with a grunt and they got him back to the cabin. Sam laid him on the couch and Abby bound his wounds tightly. She pressed a clean, bleached tea towel to his throat. All the while, Hedda keened and mumbled in her room.

"We've got to move fast, Sam; bring the car down!" He grabbed the keys and sprinted up the lane as Abby checked Dean's responses. He moaned and opened his eyes, and tried to speak. "Sssh...be still. We're going to the hospital, it's gonna be ok."

Dean was aware enough to know that this was more than they could handle here. He nodded slightly. The shock of his encounter with Herne was starting to fade. He knew he was lucky to be alive, but that positive spin didn't count for a whole lot at the moment. He was short of breath, the pain so raw that he balled his fists tightly and prayed to be anything but conscious.

* * *

><p>Abby gave terse directions and Sam pushed the Impala to its limit. She sat in back with Dean, pressing the towel firmly to his throat Tears squeezed from his eyes and he gripped the seat edge at the spasms of pain. They screeched to a halt in front of the doors and Abby bolted out. She returned seconds later with a gurney and several people. Dean was swiftly transferred and brought in. Abby left for a moment, determined to get a doctor <em><span>now,<span>_ even if it meant she had to drag one out of surgery herself.

Dean was agitated and Sam tried to calm him. "No, Sam-" Dean whispered. "You have to go, to finish it-"

"I know, Dean. But I need to make sure you'll-

"Abby's here...more will die, you need to go!" He struggled to reach into his pocket, and pulled Hedda's chain and ring out.

"Gold...Hedda's-" The swelling from the blow to his larynx was threatening to choke him, it was getting hard to pull in air, and even harder to speak.

Sam took it from his hand. "Alright, Dean. I'll trap him, I promise!"

Dean was drifting in and out. "...careful-"

Sam looked up as Abby hastened back with a doctor in tow. She was formidable when she had to be. He told her of his intention, she nodded and reassured him.

"He's safe here now, Sam, he'll be ok. Just you be careful; I don't want to see you get hauled in here too, or worse." She squeezed his hand. He sighed and prepared to go, despite every instinct screaming at him to stay. He remembered the delicate issue of identity, and he went out to the car and found Dean's wallet, checking that there was a suitably uninteresting persona in there. He returned and gave it to Abby, with a brief warning about his new name. She raised her eyebrows but nodded. He promised to check on Hedda and lock the cabin, and with one last glance at Dean, he left to try to put an end to the crisis for once and for all.

The sky was brightening toward morning as Sam got behind the wheel. He was in turmoil; he hated leaving Dean but it was true; even seconds counted now. If he didn't get Herne into the ground, more of Badham's hapless peons would suffer as Dean had. He would never be able to erase those terrible moments from his mind, and he swore that no one else would have to experience that. He drove quickly, not looking forward to any more nonsense with Hedda.

* * *

><p>Dean was taken into surgery immediately. Abby wanted to assist, but she far too shaky. Instead she spent her time pacing and wringing her hands, learning how it felt to be on the other side of the nurses' station. She didn't like it. It felt as if they had him under for so long, she was on the verge of panic. When they finally allowered her to see him she was in tears, something her co-workers had never seen. She sat beside him as he lay in drugged stillness. Dozens of bristling little stitches snaked across his skin. She winced, knowing how that would feel when he awoke. He was wheezing, and they had him on oxygen. They'd sutured his torn throat as well, but she knew that the bigger threat lay in the bruise that was rapidly darkening across his neck. They were watching him for any signs of respiratory distress; with his larynx so bruised, the swelling could block his airway and there was the possibility they'd have to trache him. She prayed he could avoid that. She sighed deeply, miserable about it all. She worried how Sam was fairing.<p>

* * *

><p>Sam had checked on Hedda as requested. She was the same; swinging like a pendulum between weeping remorse and aggressive rhetoric. He checked her bonds, making sure they were gentle but secure. He fed her some crackers and a cup of milk, and locked the door behind him. Cedar box and baggie of sap in hand, he got back into the car and drove the short distance to the trailhead.<p>

Sam took what he needed from the car. His mood was grim after his experience, the memory of watching helplessly as Dean nearly faded to oblivion in his arms was still raw and painful. He was thankful for Abby's quick reactions; he had let his emotions rule the situation and it damn well could have cost Dean his life. Well, he was going to finish this. His motivation at the moment was not concern for anyone else, but rather; a bitter need for vengeance. He wanted to see that thing disappear into a black hole in the ground where it would never see the light of day again. He checked his box one last time, making sure all its contents were complete. The pine resin was in there, ready to be smeared over the edges to seal the thing. All he had to do was follow Mike Hawley's trail to the oak, collect some acorns from the ground, maybe climb the tree to add fresh ones too as he wasn't sure which were the preference. And then put that box at the tree's base and watch. He didn't know what would happen after that; he'd just have to wait and see. But if that thing really was lured into that box by the irresistible offerings, he knew he would have to leap out and shut it in seconds. He was nervous. These unknown creatures were more of a gamble to deal with as they had no frame of reference other than old texts. Ghosts, demons, vampires; all of those were old hat...not easy, but relatively predictable.

It was still early. He checked his watch; 6:13 am. The air was chilly, he could see his breath condense, as the sun hadn't burned off any of the cool moisture of night yet. He followed the slashed marks on the trunks, realizing sadly that this was probably what cost the kid his life. The damage to the trees had earned Herne's reprisal, and he'd done it for them. Well, not exactly; it was more to assuage his own guilty conscience. But nonetheless, a decent kid had died, and shit-piles like Badham stayed breathing; consuming and abusing the world around them.. So much for justice.

He hiked on in silence, careful to do nothing that would alert Herne to his presence. More than once he felt for the wilted nightshade, reassuring himself that it was still there should he need it. As the sun brightened, he could appreciate the terrain he was in. It really was a magnificent old forest; it would be a damned shame if they flattened it for that development. He could do his part to rid the Blackvale of it's danger, but he had no way of protecting it from people like Badham. In a way, he was contributing to that bastard's cause; eliminating the only resistance to his plan that he couldn't buy or bully. It stuck in Sam's craw, it galled him that he was helping to bring about the demise of this place. But he had his job. It was up to others to do theirs to protect it.

The trail skirted the golf course about half way along. There was still a good screen of trees, but he could see the course through the breaks here and there. He had to admit, it was pretty nice. It had been a while since he'd played; Dean didn't golf, and it was too expensive anyway. He moved with caution now; voices were filtering through, people obeying Badham, entering the forest to stake the surveyed lots for clearing. -_Damn!-_ The idiots had no idea how much danger they were facing. Sam realized that if he didn't get to his task soon, there could be more tragedy this day. He avoided detection and soon he left the voices behind him as he continued following Mike's path. He almost made it to the old tree.

When he reached the place where the oak stood, he broke through the screen of blackberry bramble, and stepped onto the mossy open space. He was about to head toward it when he heard someone clear his throat. He whipped around to face the sound. It was Badham, with Mason in tow. Mason pointed a revolver at his chest.

"Well aren't you a slippery little f~ck." Badham said. There was no crocodile grin today; his expression was purely malevolent. "I knew you'd be back here. Lemme guess; you're still looking hard for ways to sink my project."

Sam stood still, sweating now. -_so damned close- _"Listen to me; you don't know what's going on here. Trust me, there's nothing I'd rather see than the death of this crappy development, but that's not why we came here. We're here to stop people dying in the Blackvale. You have no idea what the hell you're dealing with!"

"Shut your damned mouth!" Badham's country squire manner fell away completely now. "_You _are doing this; you and that piece of shit brother of yours! I don't know what organization you're part of, but at this point I don't care! You know; I should haul you into the county jail, let the sheriff deal with your murdering, but that'd just slow things down, and you are not putting the breaks on this, not now, not ever! I've heard enough bullshit!" He turned to Mason. "Finish this!"

Sam tensed. Mason levelled the weapon and, with no change in his dull, pig-eyed expression, he fired.

Sam had anticipated it; he threw himself sideways into the ferns at the edge of the brambles. The bullet missed completely; it struck one of the lower limbs of the oak, sending a shower of bark bits in all directions. He scrambled along the forest floor, rolling out of view as Mason swore and jogged heavily into the clearing, searching wildly for his target. Badham hung back, letting his hired man do what he was well-paid for. The sweating thug lumbered further in, shooting wildly now in the vain hope that he'd hit his elusive target. One shot sent a partridge winging away in a panic. Another severed a leafy maple branch. Sam had no idea how much ammunition Mason had; he was pinned, immobile and silent in the undergrowth, until the bastard gave up. Things were not in his favour at the moment.

But neither were they in Mason's.

Sam almost rose to see when he heard the scream. There was a confusion of frantic voices, followed by the sounds of heavy bodies colliding. He recognized Mason's deep voice, howling in obvious terror. Badham was screaming too; in an almost womanly high pitch.

-_Herne-!_ Sam now knew that they were under attack themselves, and he could safely peek above the blackberry canes to see what was happening. The scene was just as he'd experienced before, only now it was Gil Mason screaming on the ground while the eerie creature ground away at him with horns and hooves. Badham was wild-eyed; he stumbled backwards into the brambles and curled into a fetal position, whimpering in fear. Sam felt no strong compulsion to intervene, but his conscience ultimately forced him to rise and pull the remaining nightshade from his coat. He held it out in front of him as he carefully approached the wild-eyed black stag. It looked up from where it was mutilating its quarry; red eyes glowing, and snorting with malice. Sam knew he was safe; the herb had repelled it before and it would again. He waved the nightshade at it, yelling at it to leave. The creature stood its ground, threatening, tossing it's head back and forth. Whether it recognized Sam from their earlier encounter or not, it backed away. Sam kept his steady approach, and Herne had no choice but to give ground as Sam gained it. Finally, with one last snort, it regained the form of the antlered man, and it turned, cloak billowing, and disappeared into the shadows.

Sam caught his breath, realizing just how long he'd been holding it. He stuffed the battered plant back into his pocket with a shaky hand, and turned to survey the damage to his luckless enemy. There was nothing left to save. Gil Mason was dead; decidedly so. There were parts of him now exposed that should never, under any circumstances, see the light of day, and Sam; who had seen plenty of gore in his travels, gagged at the grisly sight spread out on the mossy ground. He turned away and retched. Badham had regained some composure; he got up from where he'd curled up and stepped warily towards Sam and what remained of Mason. He stared in silence at the ugly scene.

"So you were on the level..." he quavered, finally.

Sam looked at him with disgust. "Yeah. That thing you saw; it was why we came here in the first place. That's what you were sending your people in to face. That's what was killing them."

Badham may have been affected briefly, but he was nothing if not an opportunist. He was used to spinning situations to his benefit. He realized quickly that whatever that thing was, it could pose a threat to the development. That is; if anyone else knew about it. "Well Jesus H. Christ! Ain't that a thing! Who else knows about this?" he asked Sam innocently.

Sam should have seen where the discussion was leading. "Just my brother, and me. And Hedda Baldwin and her grand daughter. People don't want to learn about things like this; they're better off not knowing."

Badham agreed. He leaned down to look at his fallen man, pretending to close his dead, horror-stricken eyes. Instead, he picked up the gun from where Mason had dropped it, and he turned and pointed it at Sam. "I think it's best that it stay that way." he said.

Sam froze. He was squarely in the cross-hairs; there was no where to hide now. "You stupid, greedy sonofabitch!" he ground out. "What, are you planning to shoot all of us? Don't you think this has killed enough people?"

Badham shrugged, and coolly pulled the trigger. It responded with an impotent _click_. Sam had winced at the sound, expecting to feel the pain of his own demise. But the second he realized the chamber was empty, he threw a powerful round-house punch at his adversary. It caught Badham squarely on the jaw, and he stumbled backwards, dropping the useless weapon. Sam kicked the gun away, grabbed him by the shirtfront and gave him several more punishing shots to his face, dropping him in a stunned and bloodied heap on the mossy ground. Badham cursed, and groaned as he attempted to sit up, but Sam gave him a savage kick in the ass that sent him sprawling back down into the leaves. He stayed where he was after that, whimpering pitifully, afraid to move.

-_Coward!- _Still in a fury, Sam grabbed him by the collar and dragged him to the base of the oak, where the rope used to tie Dean still lay. He picked up a length and bound Badham's hands behind him. "Where's your bravado now? Look at you, crying like a kid! You pissed your pants, for god's sake!" Sam spat. "How many people besides me, and my brother, and Hedda Baldwin, were you gonna sacrifice so you could stuff your own mattress with green? You make me sick!"

Badham regrouped. "Listen, please...you're obviously a smart young man; you know how much this development will generate...how about I cut you in? You know how to control this thing; I saw you, you made it stop and disappear. If you kept it away, I could get this project off the ground. There's millions of dollars here, easily enough to share with the right guy!"

Sam turned and looked at him. "Well; I'm the _wrong _guy. And you seriously pissed me off. You hurt my brother, and now he may be dead in hospital because of you. Just like Mike Hawley...just like the others. Did you really think you could buy me off now?" He didn't wait to hear Badham's answer. He hopped up into the oak's branches and retrieved a handful of plump, shiny green acorns. Next, he picked up the copper-lined box from where he'd dropped it, and he placed them into it. He took out the baggie of resin, found a stick, and used it to spread it evenly over the lip of the box. Then he pulled out Hedda's golden remembrance of her late husband. It was still smeared with Dean's blood.

He frowned. He knew it held great sentimental value. He walked back to Badham and crouched in front of him. Badham was still wearing the heavy, gaudy chain. Sam smiled, and yanked it free of his overly-cologned neck.

"Hey!" Badham protested, "That chain cost me two grand!"

Sam's smile widened. He grasped Badham's soft hand and stripped it of the massive gold signet ring.

"Aw Jesus christ, come on! That's a Badham family heirloom!"

Sam ignored him. He got up and slipped Hedda's keepsake back into his pocket. He dropped the new and final lure in, set the open casket under the tree, and dragged Badham to his feet. He pulled him to the clearing edge and untied him. With a final, brutal kick to his fat backside, he ordered him to run. And Badham did. He ran for his sorry life. Sam didn't particularly want to see him go free, but he was a hindrance now to the more critical task at hand.

* * *

><p>He found a hiding spot amongst the brambles that would accommodate his big frame, and he settled down to an uncomfortable and silent wait. He had no idea how long it would take to attract Herne's attention, but it wasn't long. A gathering mist caught his eye. It built and solidified into the form he'd seen before; the antlered man incarnation. Sam could see enough of him, or it. The eyes were strange; not glowing red, as they were when he appeared as the stag, but not human. The cloak and hood seemed to be of something living, like the forest around them. It stood, a few feet from the open box, fascinated, but wary. Sam could see it sniff the air and close it's eyes in rapture. Bobby was right...the items from the list combined to make a powerful and irresistible lure to the being.<p>

Sam held his breath as Herne approached the casket reverently. It crouched in front of it, staring at the contents. And as Sam watched, it began to lose definition; solidity fading and once again taking the form of mist. It flowed like a fog into the box, like smoke being drawn up a chimney flue. When he was certain it was inside, Sam bolted from his hiding place, threw himself the last few feet, and slammed the lid shut. He kept it pressed tightly as he locked it and pulled the key.

He placed the box back onto the ground, backing away. He was fearful that it could somehow escape it's little prison; this was a complete unknown. But the box sat still. It didn't rock or shake; nothing escaped it. It seemed Herne was content within it's copper-lined confinement. Sam finally allowed himself to breathe. He rubbed his face, running a trembling hand through his twig-tangled hair. He returned to where Mason had accosted him. He searched, and found the spade he knew he would need. This wasn't going to be easy; the spot at the oak's base was going to be criss-crossed with thick roots. He began his dig, glancing furtively to make sure no one was watching. And after an hour of sweating and heartfelt cursing, he was satisfied that it was deep enough. He discarded the spade, picked up the box carefully and placed it at the bottom in the dark, wet earth.

"Seeya Herne." he whispered. "Say Hi to Robin Hood for me."

And he quickly refilled the hole. He replaced the mossy patch over it, and dusted off his hands, satisfied that the place looked undisturbed.

It was done.


	8. Chapter 8

8

Poor Abby was miraculously asleep despite the sharp points of the chair digging into her shoulder and leg. Hospital visitor seating must have been built by the same people that made bus and airplane seats. None were designed for human comfort.

She'd tried to stay alert so she could watch him for any difficulty, but she'd been awake all night. and most of that time had been spent under stress. She didn't hear him awaken. A crumpled paper cup did the trick, though. It bounced off her face, and she snapped up, nearly knocking her chair over. She focused, slightly wild-eyed, on her companion. Dean raised a couple of fingers in a greeting. He had already tried to call her name but his voice was so hoarse and weak it was pointless. Abby pushed the hair back from his forehead. "How are you feeling?" she asked quietly. He gave her a wry look that suggested crappy, but he'd live. "Can I get you anything?'

He made a hand gesture for a pen and pad of paper, and she nodded and went in search of something. She came back with it, and a doctor who looked like he'd been dragged along by an ear. Abby handed the means of communication to him as the doctor checked him over. The doc was terse but thorough. "Difficulty swallowing? Difficulty inhaling or exhaling? Pain?" Dean shook his head to all the questions except the last one; he answered with a strangling hand gesture, followed by a gesture toward his aching side.

"You feel pressure on your throat? And pain in your side?"

Dean nodded.

The doc softened a little."You were struck hard by one of those antlers when it punctured your throat. You have some bruising and edema. Your scans were negative for fractures or ruptures, but you're going to feel some considerable discomfort for a while, and your speech will be difficult. You need to keep conversation to a minimum for the next few days. As for your other injuries; we earned our keep with you, lots of sutures to close some pretty deep and ragged lacerations. Plus you have two uncomplicated rib fractures, which were aggravated by your altercation. But you know, despite that...I'd say you're pretty lucky. I saw some of the others who encountered that thing."

Dean nodded, feeling anything but lucky at the moment. He was growing tired. He had more pressing concerns; ones that only Abby could answer. The doc gave him a shot to alleviate his pain and moved on to other patients. Dean scribbled on his pad. "Sam?"

Abby shook her head. "I haven't heard from him yet. It hasn't been that long; I'm sure he's-"

She was interrupted by the arrival of the very person they were discussing. He was a mess; tired and dirty, and he looked from Dean to Abby anxiously.

Abby filled him in. He sat down and rubbed his eyes, relieved to see Dean alert. "I'm glad to see you're still with us, Dean. Christ, you had me worried. How do you feel?"

Dean scribbled, "_Like shit that breathes. Herne?_"

"Boxed and buried. There's a lot more to that, but it can wait. But I will tell you that your buddy Mason bought it. Herne opened him up like a big fat pinata."

Dean grimaced and nodded, raising a hand to his bandaged throat. He was pale, his face taut, and what he really needed was to be still and quiet. Abby gently pushed his hand away. "Rest, Dean. I'm going to take Sam to the cafeteria and feed him. We'll talk more later, ok?"

Despite how he was obviously feeling, he held up a thumb and offered a wan smile. Sam returned it, patted his arm and they left.

* * *

><p>He was glad they had gone. His endless stitches were all screaming, and he felt like Herne was still standing with all four hooves on his throat. He was too tired to hide it; and with Sam back, safe and sound, he gave in and let sleep draw him away from everything.<p>

Abby forced Sam to fill his tray. It wasn't a hard sell; he was pretty hollow, despite his exhaustion. They found a seat by a window and ate for some time in silence.

Abby was desperate to hear how everything had unfolded, but she let him get to it at his own pace. Finally she was rewarded. "Abby, what's the real damage with him?"

She told him what she knew. "I trust Dr. Quan, Sam. He's not the warmest person, but he knows his stuff. I checked your brother's charts too. He'll be ok, after a while. He was lucky; people with that kind of laryngeal injury often go undiagnosed, and if it were any worse, stats say he probably would have died on site. But other than the puncture, it seems it's just bruised and swollen, nothing more serious. They stitched everything, patched his ribs, put him through all the scans. The main thing now is rest, and minimal, or better yet _no_ speech. He'll mend. How about you?"

Sam yawned and examined his bloodied boxer's knuckles. "God...busy night. I went out to finish the trap and almost got to the oak. Badham and Mason were waiting there. Mason took a shot at me, a couple of times. He missed and I got out of his cross-hairs. Herne must have been angered by the damage he was doing, especially to the oak; it came out of nowhere and literally stomped him to oblivion. Badham was scared so badly that he pissed himself. But that snake recovered quickly and tried to finish what he'd paid Mason to do. I convinced him otherwise and sent him running with my footprint on his ass. I would have prefered to keep him hog-tied and deliver him to authorities after, but I was afraid he'd scare Herne off, and I just needed to finish it. Anyway, I got the trap completed and laid, and it went like clockwork. It was eerie, but sort of beautiful in a way...The thing was drawn to the box and its contents, and it actually looked happy, like it was on a spritual high or something. It turned into a mist and entered it. Then I slammed it shut, locked it, and buried it. Oh, and I checked on Hedda before and after. She's ok, Abby; just upset and shaken. But she seemed free of the hold Herne had on her. I untied her and left her in the cabin; she didn't want to leave the house. She's expecting your call later."

Abby puffed out a breath in relief. "Thank-you, Sam, for thinking of her after all that. I know you were anxious to check on Dean." She dropped her head into her hands. "This is so weird. ...So screwed up. I couldn't believe what Dean was telling me at first; it was insane... And then Gran said she had actually _called_ it here. and all those people...poor Mike Hawley... And when I heard Dean screaming while Herne was hurting him, I...I covered my ears, I had to block it out, it was so awful! Jesus Christ, Sam-"

She couldn't help it; the flood gates burst and she was a sobbing wreck for a good ten minutes. Sam hugged her and waited it out. She finally dried her eyes and apologized.

Sam assured her. "It's ok...it's ok. But listen, Abby; you should go and see her now. I really appreciate everything you did here, but it's time for you to look after your own stuff. You're beat too; you can barely keep your eyes open."

She sighed. He was right. "Ok. Thanks, Sam. I'll stay there for the day at least. And you can reach me on my cell. I'll go say goodbye to Dean. Call me for anything, ok?"

"I will. See you Abby. And thanks."

With a tired smile, Abby waved and made her way back.

* * *

><p>She sat beside Dean for a moment, relieved he was asleep. Again, she was struck by his attractiveness. She leaned forward and brushed a soft kiss against his pale cheek. "So much for gettin' me some..." she sighed to herself wistfully.<p>

Dean opened an eye and pointed to an ear with a little grin. She blushed with embarrassment. "Oh...you heard that, did you? Well, you're all drugged up, you must've been hallucinating." He raised an eyebrow. She kissed him again, more surely this time, and left.

Sam returned to Dean's room, and when he saw that he was sleeping, he followed his usual routine; pulling two chairs together, nabbing a spare blanket, and settling in. He had much to tell Dean, but neither of them was in a state to discuss it. It was mid afternoon by the time they awoke. Some one had stuffed a pillow under Sam's head, he was grateful. He usually woke up from these times with a wicked imprint on his cheek from an uncompromising chair-arm. He was as stiff as a stale pretzel, but felt a bit rested. Dean's eyes were closed, he was frowning and shifting in discomfort. Sam touched his shoulder and said his name quietly.

"Sam." he mouthed silently.

"You ok? What can I do for you?" the younger man questioned anxiously.

He looked a little panicked, whispering- "-gotta...uh...need a nurse here, quick-"

"Ah. I hear you, hang on-" Sam called for help, and the issue was efficiently dealt with. When they were alone once more, Dean tried to speak with him, but found the effort painful and draining. Sam looked around and found the paper and pen.

Dean scribbled for a moment. "_how'd it go_?"

"Well...I got to the cabin and checked on Hedda, then I went to the trail. I got to the oak and was just about to start when Badham and Mason showed up. Mason took a couple of shots at me but he just hit everything else, and I guess he pissed Herne off because he was suddenly there. Mason didn't have a chance; by the time I got between them he was pretty dead. Badham curled up in the brush and peed his pants; he screams like a girl, by the way. When he remembered he was the big man, he tried to find where Mason dropped the gun first, but it was empty, and then he tried to buy me off. I declined, by the way. All I could do was kick his ass and tell him to run; I had to get the trap done. And then everything went exactly as Bobby said...it was so weird. Herne materialized as the man-creature, it carefully went up to the box, and when it saw the contents it was like a kid at christmas. It turned into mist again and I watched it flow into the box. I ran and shut it and then buried it. And that was it. Hedda seemed free of his hold when I got back. Abby's gone there now.."

Dean sighed, closing his eyes with relief. He opened them again, and pointed to Sam's knuckles with a questioning look.

Sam flexed his hand with a grimace. "Oh...yeah. I gave Badham a free nose-job. But this is better; I was all set to put Hedda's ring into the box, but when I had Badham down I had a better idea. That big, tacky gold chain he was wearing, and the Badham heirloom signet ring, are in the box with Herne instead. Poor old Jimmy Bill wasn't too happy about it." he grinned.

Dean snorted his approval. He scritched another message. "_Way to go, Sam. beautiful! Herne deep enough?_"

"As deep as I could with all the damn roots and rock. But I think so; at least he's safe there until they decide to develop that part of the Blackvale."

Dean frowned. -_crap-_ Despite all their efforts and pain, the threat still remained. It may be rendered harmless for the moment, but as long as the forest was under the cloud of potential development, the possibility remained that Herne could wreak his havoc again. He hated leaving loose ends, especially potentially lethal ones. The damned job still wasn't complete yet. He sighed wearily and wrote again: _"gonna hafta stop that project. -ideas?_"

"I don't know right now.. We should see something in the papers about Mason being another victim of the so-called rogue stag; you'd think that would get somebody official to fence the place off from public access finally."

Dean sighed again, and whispered, "Maybe." He wrote the rest. "_go crash-get a shower. You look like crap, with twigs in it"_

"I'm ok staying with you, Dean. I can sleep standing up right now anyway."

Dean was growing frustrated with the writing. He tried to voice his concerns. "I'm fine here Sam...gonna sleep for a while. Go and take a nap, you need-" He winced, his eyes watering. He was fading fast under the effects of the painkiller. Sam forced the pen and pad back into his hands. "_Our stuff is at Abby's, -some in car-go sleep -but don't let anyone in._"

"You sure, Dean?"

He closed his eyes and nodded slightly. He whispered again- "yeah...and thanks, Sammy; you saved my ass...again."

_That_ struck home. Seeing Dean there, as pale as the bleached hospital sheets he was lying against, tired and hurting from his own sacrifices, Sam felt a wave of emotion hit him. All the stress and fear, the adrenalin, the exhaustion; they suddenly merged and threatened to swamp him. He dropped his head down.

Dean saw it and he nudged him with his knee.. "Not gonna cry on me, are you?" he teased.

"No! Jerk-!" Sam snorted in denial, wiping his eyes. But it worked; Dean broke him out of his emotional moment. "Ok, I'm going. I'll be back in a while. You sleep too, Dean."

Dean offered a tired wave. His eyes were already half-closed. Once the younger man had gone, Dean let himself drift away. The world could just sit there and wait for a change; the Winchester brothers were off the clock.

* * *

><p>Dean was asleep, which was the best state for him to be in, when he had a visitor. Dear James William had graced him with his presence.<p>

He awoke to a hand on his shoulder, shaking him to consciousness. He thought it was Sam; certainly no one else, and the last face he'd expected to see was Badham's. He took a few seconds to focus, but when he realized who was leaning over him, he recoiled instinctively, and reached for his call button. Badham stopped his hand.

"Relax, stupid. I can't exactly do anything with all these people around."

Dean rubbed his eyes, needing to be far more alert than he felt. He blinked a few times and glowered at his visitor. "How'd you get in here? What the hell do you want?" he whispered.

"Easy, son." Badham soothed. "I'm just here to pay my respects. I understand you had an altercation with that thing out there, in my woods. Looks like it got the better of you in the fight."

Dean said nothing. He crossed his arms in defiance and showed none of the pain brought by the action.

Badham continued. "Well, I'm real sorry about that, honestly. I don't want to feel responsible for anyone getting hurt in my woods, unless I'm the one doing it." He chuckled "I'm just here to talk. Look; I spoke to your brother. I know he can control that thing, I saw it myself. But he's young, an idealist...he won't talk reason with me. You, on the other hand; you seem like you've been around the block a few times, and you're clearly the leader, here."

The flattery was cloying, and Dean was far too jaded to be swayed. But he stayed silent while Badham continued.

"Now; I know you're more than what I thought. I know you and your brother were here to see to that creature, not to stop me specifically. Hell; you both tried to tell me that, but I wasn't inclined to listen at the time. And I'm real sorry about what my man Mason did to you...but you have to understand; there's a helluva lot at stake here. This development is going to be huge for this town...jobs for a whole lotta people, a boost in the economy for Wendover. Progress always comes at a price; I'm sure you know that as well as I know. But hear me out-"

Dean nodded slightly, his stare still icy.

"Good...good. I knew you were a reasonable man. Now, your brother, he stopped that stag cold; I saw it. I don't know how, but every other poor bastard that met up with it ended up butchered, all except for him. He held it off, with words, or some charm, I don't know what; and it just circled around him and left. It was a god-damned miracle, from my point of view. I need a miracle like that. I need that power, to keep that thing out of my hair. But your brother won't come on board, at least not for me. But I figure maybe you can maybe convince him to. Good kid, your brother; principled. But let's be real here. This plan is going through, one way or another. And I don't want to see any more people get hurt than you do, it slows everything down. So I'm approaching you; man to man, businessman to businessman, here."

Dean stared at him, expressionless. He opened his mouth to speak, but grimaced, reaching for his pad and paper.

-_Why would I help you-?- _he scribbled.

Badham looked almost sympathetic. He gestured to Dean's bandaged throat. "It got you good, huh...? Rough business, this. But I think you and I can stop the problems here, and we can both make a tidy little bundle in the process."

Dean scritched; -_Go on-_

"Well...like I said; if you can keep this thing under control, then I can move forward, at least with the clearing and surveying. And I don't want to see my people getting offed; lord knows I'm gonna get hit with a bunch of settlements as it is."

-_what are you offering-?- _Dean wrote.

"Ten grand, to keep that thing happily out of my way. Nothing stops my workers, and you get the cash. Two thousand now; and the rest later." Badham leaned forward, anxious to hear Dean's reaction.

Dean eyed him calmly. _Ten grand._ That'd go a long way to ease their impoverished existence. He smiled to himself. He put aside the paper and whispered, "Five up front, and I can guarantee nobody will get hurt by that thing again. You're right, we do know how to control it; that's our specialty. Show me the cash, and your people will go in and out of the Blackvale without any problems. But you leave my brother alone, you hear? You don't talk to him, you don't tail him, you don't harass him. This is between you and me, nothing to do with him. He's young, he's still trying to save the world. If he gets bothered, or hurt, deal's off."

Badham was pleased. "That's agreed, then. You have my word." And oozing good will and oily smiles, he offered his hand to shake on it.

Dean ignored it ."I don't give shit for your word. Cash only."

Badham scowled at the affront, but nodded curtly.

Dean added, "Bring half of it by tonight, at the end of visiting hours. Fve now, five after, cash; and you're free to do your thing. What about Hedda Baldwin?"

Badham shrugged.. "She's old...she'll spook eventually. If she won't leave, I'll just have to convince her harder. Already did some work to that end."

Dean swallowed with a grimace, trying unsuccessfully to hide that weakness. It was getting almost too painful to whisper, but he felt foolish writing his responses "Leave her to me. Don't do anything else to push her out; she's a stubborn old bat and she's ready to push back hard. But I have a pretty good rapport going with her...I'll talk to her, I'll convince her."

Badham was pleased. His agenda was met, and it had cost him less than he was prepared to offer. "Excellent. Excellent. You're a good man; smart. I'll see you tonight."

Dean nodded. But he warned him, making his voice as loud as he could manage; "Just remember, Badham; what my brother can do, it goes both ways. He can send it away, but he can call it too; anytime he needs to."

Badham understood the threat. He blanched slightly, and with a final tight-lipped nod, he left.

* * *

><p>Once alone, Dean lay back against his pillow. The pain at his throat was brutally raw; he knew he'd overdone it, and the unexpected little visit had drained him. But he smiled, as he drifted off. -<em>Asshole-. <em>They had the upper hand now. Badham thought they would be keeping Herne at bay for him, and he'd pay them well for it. He had no idea that the deity was already banished. They'd make some much-needed cash, and be able to work unhindered and right under the bastard's nose, to stop the development, while Badham was convinced that they were working in his favour. It wasn't very often, but every now and then something went _their _way. It was very, very sweet.

* * *

><p>Sam awoke to the beeping of his watch alarm. He was aware now, that he was still dressed in the same dirty clothing he had when he'd buried Herne. He ran a hand over his face and hair, and pulled out a few prickly blackberry twigs. <em>Yeah-maybe a shower<em>... He reluctantly sat up, and searched his bag for some replacement clothing. Finding that, he headed to the can.

As the hot water coursed down, he shed some of the negatives from the past few hours. At least the supernatural threat was under control. If he had to punch a clock he'd consider the job done and his pay well earned. Herne was back underground. Their task was met and resolved...technically, at least. Not that anyone was keeping score. But he knew that the danger was still there. And after witnessing the attack on Dean he was loathe to allow that to happen again, under any circumstance. He dressed quickly and headed out to the car. He checked around, warily again, and drove away. Knowing Dean so well, he stopped and loaded up with some fast food along the way, and arrived at his room laden with contraband dinner.

* * *

><p>Dean was still and silent. Sam pulled up a chair, sat down, and watched him for a while. He thought his brother was pale, but looked more comfortable, more relaxed than previously. He opened one of his grease-stained paper sacks. The scent wafted over the patient, and he opened his eyes.<p>

"Oooh yeah!" Dean rasped in appreciation.. He snatched the bag from Sam's hands and raised the head of his bed up with the control. Sam was pleased to see him wolfing it down; things were definitely getting back to normal if Dean was back to swallowing fast-food whole.

"Easy, stupid; it's been a while since I learned the Heimlich!" he admonished. Dean grinned. They polished off the contents and Sam produced coffee. "So how are you?" he asked.

Dean shrugged, and whispered, "Ok. Stitches hurt like a bitch. Ribs are sore. Throat hurts. Same old shit. When can I get loose from this joint?''

Sam rolled his eyes. "Do you even listen to yourself? You're in rough shape, Dean. You need to stay where you are for a while. Sorry, dude, but everything can wait until you're stronger."

Dean scowled. He hated lying in hospital. It was boring, and he was sure that he healed better when he was in the Impala anyway. He snatched up his pen. "_If I'm strong enough to get up, get dressed, and walk out the door, I'm strong enough to be allowed to_." he scribbled defiantly.

"Yeah, well that would have been alot more convincing if you didn't have to write it. Come on, Dean, just take the time, will you? We still have more to do, I know; but it's not critical at this second. Badham's stooges won't get to the clearing work for weeks yet."

That reminded Dean of his earlier visitor. "_Guess who came by this aft?" _he wrote.

Sam looked at him expectantly. It wasn't Abby or Hedda; he knew they were due tomorrow. He shrugged.

"_Lord James himself."_

Sam was instantly alarmed. "You serious? What the hell did he want? Did he threaten you?"

Dean shook his head. He scratched furiously in his pad- "_Wanted to make a deal. He saw that you could keep Herne away-so he wanted me to convince you to do that for him. He's ponying up ten grand if I can talk you into doing that."_ he grinned.

"Get outa here! So I guess you didn't tell him that Herne's already gone?"

"_What, am I stupid? He can fork over the cash, it's the least he can do for us. He'll think I've got you keeping Herne away, and we can work without him being suspicious. It's all good."_

Sam snorted a laugh. "Well then, I'll see what I can do to keep Herne 'occupied'. Oh, speaking of visitors; Abby and Hedda are going to come by tomorrow after lunch. I invited them, but if you feel like you don't want to, just say so."

Dean frowned a little. Sam saw it and offered, "I'll just call them and cancel, Dean. They don't have to know you don't want to see them, but hey, I understand, under the circumstances."

Dean put his pad aside and whispered, "It's not that, Sam. I'm not pissed about any of it; Hedda didn't know. It's just...I hate it when I have people weeping over me. Man, I _really_ hate that!"

Sam laughed. "Ok, I'll warn them to keep it light. I figured you didn't hold her responsible for what happened to you, but I wanted to check with you first. Abby said Hedda wanted to sell out to Badham after all this, but I told her to stay strong against him."

Dean's expression clouded with worry. "Think she'll do that? She's the key to keeping this thing stalled, until we find something permanent."

"If it's you telling her to, I know she will."

Dean nodded. At that point a nurse came in. She did her checks, asked her questions, and put a cup of meds beside his water. Dean pretended to swallow them. When she was gone, he scribbled again. "_That'll do me in for the night. You might as well take off, I'll be pretty boring in a few minutes. But don't do anything without me, ok?"_

Sam smiled. "Ok, I promise. And with you having this deal with Badham; at least I don't have to worry about some meatball pouncing on me from around some corner, so thanks for that." He rose to leave. "I think I'll go out to the cabin to check on those two before I head back to the motel. Anything you need before I go?"

Dean shook his head and waved him off.

* * *

><p>Not a half hour had passed since Sam's departure, when Dean looked around, furtively. He got himself up, slowly, and stood at the bedside for a minute, making sure he wasn't going to pitch to the floor with a black-out. When he was sure he was stable enough, he pulled his IV and rummaged through the cupboard in his room, finding his tattered, bloodied clothing. -<em>ugh-gross.<em> - But he struggled into it carefully anyway. The shirt he'd been wearing had been discarded. The heavy Grampa Peter coat was ok; it was torn, but the blood was mostly staining the inside. At least he wouldn't be a total gruesome spectacle when he left. And his pants were there too. Those were pretty key; he could hardly sneak out of a hospital in a cab with no pants on.

Once fully dressed, he made his way down the hallway, keeping a hand on the wall for support. He kept his head down, trying to avoid being nabbed by a sharp-eyed nurse. He was lucky, and he took the first exit he found, ending at a side street. He stood in the fresh, evening air, and leaned heavily against the sun-warmed brick, closing his eyes momentarily. He broke out in a cold sweat and shivered. _Everything_ hurt. For a second, he almost gave up and followed the advice of all those wiser people, but his stubbornness returned, and he gathered himself and went in search of a cab. If he was lucky, and if he didn't pass out in the taxi; he could get to the motel and crash before Sam got back.


	9. Chapter 9

9

Sam drove the distance to Hedda Baldwin's cabin on auto-pilot. He was deep in thought and nearly missed her laneway, having to brake so hard that the box of tapes clattered across the floor. Annoyed, he kicked several out from under the pedals and backed up. He'd called Abby to give them a heads up that he was coming out, but he got her voicemail. He wanted to get the visit over-with as quickly as possible, he was looking forward to some peace and quiet, alone.

Hedda's laneway was well-shaded by now, he was a little creeped out by the dark trees after his experiences. He pulled up to where the cars parked, and headed down to the cabin on foot.

Beowulf greeted him with the usual racket. But the big dog was wagging, and Sam knew he wasn't really aggressive. He let him say his piece, ruffled his ears and pushed past him.

Hedda poked her head out the door, warily. When she could identify her visitor, her posture relaxed with relief. "Oh, it's you, Sam. Come in, please; don't let Beo pester you."

Sam entered the cabin kitchen and she bade him to sit. She had a pot of tea still hot enough, and she poured them both a cup. Sam assessed her. She seemed strong enough, considering. But her hands were shaking a little as she served his cup. She sat across from him. "Did you manage to rest at all?" she asked. Sam assured her he was fine. She fidgeted with the cup handle, then did the same with the napkin. He could see she wanted to talk more, but was nervous.

"Dean's doing alot better, Hedda. He's bored, and he said he was looking forward to seeing you two tomorrow."

She looked up from her napkin-twisting, and fought to keep her eyes from welling. He could see that Abby was right, she was in pure misery over it all.

"I'm so glad to hear that, Sam. I just feel so awful...I was sure...well-" She lost her bid to stay stoic and she started to cry.

"Hey...Hedda...c'mon now." he soothed, pulling her hands away from her face. "This is not your fault, ok? We knew what we were getting into, and this isn't the first, or last time we'll get flattened doing what we do. So try to shake it off. Dean has one rule for when you come out; he doesn't want anybody crying over him like he's got one foot in his grave, so how about it? Can you do that for him?"

She nodded and wiped at her eyes, disgusted with herself. He watched her literally gear up and push those guilty emotions away, and she took a deep breath and brightened. "Alright. No blubbering; got it."

"Good stuff, Hedda. Listen, is Abby around? I didn't see her car.."

Hedda frowned slightly, and turned to peer at the clock. "That girl! She went to town for some groceries; she's going to stay here with me for a little while. She promised to be back by now. I guess she got side-tracked. I'm sure she'll turn up soon."

"Good. I wanted to talk to both of you. Listen, Hedda...Abby said you were thinking of selling after all. Is that true?"

She deflated a little. "WellI had thought about it. Sam, so many people have been hurt, and worse over this whole thing. I just thought, well...if I just gave that bastard what he wanted, everyone would be alot safer."

Sam looked at her earnestly. "Hedda, running away won't bring those people back. You know that. And there's a bigger reason to stay. If that development goes through, how long do you think it will be before it gets expanded to cover the area where we buried Herne's box? When that happens, they'll start excavating, and that box will be either discovered or crushed. Either way, Herne will be freed. We can't let that happen."

She looked at him with horror. "Good lord, I never thought of that!"

"You can't sell out, Hedda; at least, not now. We have to find a permanent way to stop this plan, and the longer you hold him up, the better chance we have to do that. And I know you're strong enough to stand up to him; you have so far. And here's another thing...he actually had the gall to go see Dean this afternoon at the hospital. He wanted to make a deal. He saw me thwart the stag, and he offered him money to keep a lid on Herne so he could keep the work going."

"But you banished it; it's not a threat anymore!"

"Yeah, but he doesn't know that. Dean agreed to do it. That means we can work around him to stop him, while he thinks we're helping him."

She snorted. "Brilliant! Greedy bastard, he'll get his own soon enough, and he'll pay out of his own pocket for the privilege. Well, that certainly brightens my day!"

"No argument here. But we can't breathe a word to anybody about this. If he finds out that Herne's already gone, we're in serious trouble."

Hedda nodded solemnly. "I promise I won't babble like some senile old twit, despite all evidence to the contrary. And I'll relay that to Abby, when she finally shows up. I swear that girl can't tell time!"

Sam rose. "I should get back. Have Abby call me, ok? And make sure you come out to see Dean. He'll want to talk to you about this latest Badham stuff."

"I will. Thank you, Sam."

* * *

><p>-<em>Crap!-<em> Dean realized he didn't have his key. It would have been in his own jacket, the sodden one he'd left at Hedda's. His cell was there too. And wallet. He was damned lucky he still had a few bucks in his pants pocket, or he would have had to walk to the motel. Since his cab had already left, he figured he had two choices...he could walk the short distance to the motel office and try to convince the proprietor that he wasn't actually a homeless man who had recently been rolled, and get him to let him in, or he could just rest in the resin chair beside the doorway while he waited for Sam to return. He sighed with sheer exhaustion. The office was way at the other end, and he was fast realizing how weak he was. The last meds he was alotted were still under his pillow, and he was feeling their absence. _God,_ he wanted his bed right now; it was right there, a mere couple of feet away on the other side of the damned door. But with no ID, he feared that his appearance might generate a call to the cops if he tried to get another key. He eyed the dirty plastic chair sourly, and settled into it. He growned inwardly. _Yeah-Sam was really gonna be impressed to see him_.

He pulled the coat closer around him and leaned back, almost regretting his decision to leave the hospital. But despite cool evening air and the barren, hard seat, he soon drifted off into tired sleep.

* * *

><p>It was almost dark when Sam pulled into the parking lot and drew up in front of their room. The headlights flashed across a figure curled up awkwardly in the chair beside the door. When he realized who it was, he could have torn his hair out in frustration. "Oh, for god's sake!" he growled out loud. "Asshole!" He shut the Impala down and slammed the door hard, then brusquely shook the awol patient awake.<p>

Dean snapped out of his uncomfortable slumber. "Ow! F~ck, don't do that!" he complained.

"Get up, idiot; you'll get pneumonia out here." Sam was furious, and he pushed past him and unlocked the door, leaving it open. Dean came in, both sheepish and defiant.

"Look Sam; there was no reason for me to stick around there-"

"Save it, Dean! I'm sick of hearing it. Just shut up and go to bed, or I'll drive you right back there now!" Sam ignored his presence for the next while as he angrily unloaded the few foodstuffs he'd picked up, and filled the kettle that was provided. He figured he'd better get something warm into that moron. Dean did as Sam demanded, as he was going to anyway. He found some clean clothing, changed, and crawled under the blankets. After the resin chair, the bed was sheer heaven. He sighed a deep and satisfied sigh.

Sam brought over a steaming mug of tea and sat beside him. "So what was it this time? Bed too clean and sanitary? Food too healthy? Nurses too ugly?" He was over his initial anger, realizing he should have expected something like this.

Dean sat up and took the cup. "Look Sammy...I 'm sorry I freaked you out. But I'm ok enough to get out of there, I can heal up just as well here. I don't know, I just felt kind of trapped. When Badham surprised me this aft, I was sound asleep. He could have done anything and I wouldn't have been able to get away."

"But now you have a deal with him. He needs you."

"Yeah, well I still don't trust him. And I don't want to be a sitting duck, bare-assed in a tied-on gown, waiting for the other shoe to drop, you know? If he changed his mind, or found out Herne's already gone, I'd have been screwed."

Sam grunted in response. There was a grain of logic there, he admitted reluctantly. He checked him over when the cup was empty. Dean looked pale and tired, but nothing seemed in any danger. The cuts still looked angry and red, but his stitches held. "You're talking way too much. How's your throat?"

Dean shrugged. He was about to say fine, but he stopped himself. "Hurts. Won't kill me."

"Well _I_ will, if you piss me off by running around anymore. Did you see Abby at all?"

Dean shook his head. "You were the last one in before I left. Why?"

Sam frowned. He'd tried to call her several times without any luck. "I went out to the cabin but it was only Hedda there. She was a little miffed because Abby had gone to town and was late coming back. And she's not answering her cell."

"What do you mean, she's _awol_?" Dean demanded.

"No; well, I mean, I'm not sure. Hang on while I call Hedda again."

She answered quickly, her voice telegraphing her worry_. "No, she's still out." _she said._ "Sam, Abby's not always punctual but she always calls if she's seriously off course. And with things being as they have these past days...I just can't think what's taking so darn long! For heaven's sake, she's been gone for hours!"_

Sam frowned and cast a look of concern to Dean. "Hedda; keep me posted, ok? And if you hear from her, get her to call me."

Hedda agreed.

"So-?" Dean rasped.

"She's still out, and way overdue. Hedda's starting to freak out. What should we do?"

Dean wasn't sure. Herne was gone, and he had thought Badham was under control, for now. But if Abby was snatched by someone from his camp, it was a new wrinkle that was unexpected. He sighed and leaned back momentarily, too tired for such required input. "I don't know, Sam. Depends on what could have happened here. So she went into town, for a few groceries? And she doesn't answer her cell?"

Sam nodded. "Hedda said so. She was just getting some things because she was going to stay at the cabin for a while."

"Do you think Badham would have grabbed her? And if so, _why? _To verify what we said about Herne? Or to leverage Hedda to sell?" Dean hated the thought that she could be in danger. She'd been a great help to them, and he was so sure they had everything in hand.

They sat in silence, both worrying, both going over every scenario they could think of.

* * *

><p>Abby had picked up what she'd gone for, and was in the process of loading her car when a man pulled up beside her and asked for directions. She gave detailed instructions but he pored over his street map in confusion. Clearly, he didn't understand. He held the paper out to her, obviously and hopelessly confused. She approached and attempted to clarify it for him. It was a mistake. He grabbed her wrist and showed her the pistol hidden under the map. He bade her to join him, she obeyed, fearfully. They drove away, leaving her green bug open in the parking lot.<p>

Their destination was predictable. James Badham greeted them as the man pulled her into the store room. "It's Abby, right? " he soothed.

She was frightened, but the fight in her rose, and her cheeks grew red with indignation. "Well I guess you know that, don't you? What the hell is this?"

He maintained his cheshire-cat grin. "I'm sure you know who I am. I'm James Badham. I know your gran doesn't think very highly of me, but I just wanted to talk to you-"

She bristled. "You can't pick up a phone, like everybody else? Your lackey here pulled a gun on me!"

Badham appeared contrite. "Abby, I am so sorry. My people are very loyal. When I have a request, they try to accommodate me to the best of their abilities. I meant no harm, certainly no threat. Please, sit. Let's talk for a moment."

She sat warily. "I don't know what you expect me to say to you."

''Abby," he interrupted. "I need your help. You know I've been pressuring your grandmother to sell out to me. It's no secret; I need her lot to gain road access to my parcel of the Blackvale. "

She wondered what on earth he was going to ask of her. He continued. "Abby, I know your Gran has alot of emotion invested in that land. Hell, I don't blame her. But listen...there's a real threat living in those woods, something I can't control. You've seen the news reports; people are dying, and I'm worried for my own workers, and I'm worried about Hedda. This wild animal, this thing is out of control; it's killing left, right and centre. I don't know what it is exactly, but I've seen it's work, and it is brutal."

She nodded. He knew then that she was familiar with it.

He continued. "Abby, I'm going to be frank, here. I think...somehow, your Gran knows what this thing is. It only started showing up when I turned the heat up on her to sell. And Abby...I wonder if maybe I should be getting the sheriff in here, to ask her about it all."

Abby blanched. Badham had to squelch his smile. "Now...if you could enlighten me about this, I might reconsider. After all; your poor grandmother is getting on...I doubt it's in her best interest to spend hours in questioning at the station. If you could shed some light on this, save her that bother..."

Abby chewed her lip. The last thing she wanted to see was her grandmother hauled downtown for questioning about things that were so damned absurd, at least on paper; that she'd be deemed incompetent and hauled to a home. She already knew that Hedda was fairly indescriminate regarding the audience with which she shared these things; she's spilled the beans in mere minutes to the Winchester brothers. She had to make a decision. "Gran doesn't know anything about it, but I do. This animal, this stag; I don't know where it came from, but I do know this; the Winchesters sent it away, for good. I don't know how, or what they did, but they told us it was gone, and it couldn't hurt anyone anymore. So your people, and Gran, everyone; they're safe now. Gran doesn't know anything so there's no point in dragging her off."

Badham smiled widely now. "Well, that is a blessing. When did you say it was banished?"

Abby didn't know why it mattered. "Early this morning. As I understand, you were there, just before. Sam said he did whatever was needed and sent it away. So you don't have to worry about it, and you certainly don't have to bother my grandmother. Like I said, it has nothing to do with her, so there's no need to bring her in to the station."

James Badham nodded. He apologized again for frightening her. "Abby, please accept my apologies. As I said; I have zealously loyal people. But I see that you and Hedda are not connected to this phenomenon. I'll have Doug here drive you back to where you were earlier. Please, take this, for your trouble." He held out a crisp hundred. She looked at it like it was a handful of feces.

"That's your answer for everything, isn't it? Buy it or bully it! You can keep your filthy money, just leave us alone from now on!" she glowered. "And I am not going anywhere with that gorilla. At least have the decency to call me a cab!"

* * *

><p>A short time later, a silent figure cast a shadow across the figure in the hospital bed. A man; skilled in stealth and devoid of conscience, checked the room number. He carefully drew a gun, awkwardly lengthened with a silencer. He checked once more, up and down the hall. It was empty; no nurses or visitors wandering near. Assured he was without any witnesses, he pointed the gun at the sleeping form beneath the blankets, and shot four bullets into it. He was confident of his aim. No one could survive that. The Winchester bastard was as dead as he could get.<p>

* * *

><p>When Abby finally arrived at the cabin, Hedda was beside herself. "Good god, Abby! Where in heaven's name have you been? I've been worried sick!"<p>

Abby hauled the grocery bags in. "Gran, just give me a second and I'll explain."

Hedda helped her with the bags, and they sat down in the livingroom. Abby told the tale of her night.

"Badham waylaid me. He was threatening to have you hauled in, Gran; over this whole Herne thing. He figured you had something to do with it; he didn't know what, but he was going to have the Sheriff pick you up over it. It was just another of his bully tactics and I had enough of it. I had to assure him that Herne was gone. I told him the brothers had done it. He let me go after he was sure."

Hedda was appalled. "Are you alright? Did they hurt you? Did they threaten you? Oh, that evil snake!"

Abby sighed. "No, Gran, I'm fine. Like I said, when I had convinced him that Herne was gone, he was all conciliatory, and he let me go."

"Well, thank goodness for that. Oh, and Sam Winchester was by earlier; he was anxious to speak with you, I think you'd better give him a ring."

She was wrung out. She just wanted to have a decent glass of wine and go to bed. "Oh...well, it's getting so late now; I'll call him in the morning. Did he talk to you about selling?"

"Yes, he did. He told me very clearly why we shouldn't, and for everyone's sake, I won't. He invited us to go visit poor Dean tomorrow. We'll all talk about things then."

"Good. Thanks, Gran. If we all stay strong..."

"I know, Dear. Now why don't we turn in, then? Tomorrow will be a busy day."

* * *

><p>"I thought you were supposed to see Badham tonight?" Sam grilled.<p>

"I left a message for him to call me. I figure we'd meet him tomorrow in the park. Nice public, neutral ground. I didn't want to be stuck in bed when that slimeball comes out. Especially at the end of the day, when everybody's gone. I'll confirm in the morning."

"Hmm. Yeah, that's probably smart. I hope he does fork over some cash, it'd be pretty handy." Sam checked the time, it was getting very late. "Shit, I wish Abby would call."

Abby didn't call, of course. He had no idea that she had decided to wait until morning, and had turned in. Sam debated whether to call Hedda again, but she was probably already asleep. Hopefully Abby made it home alright-and he'd hear from her in the morning. Dean had been out of it for a while, and tired of waiting, he lay down himself.

* * *

><p>At two AM, Hedda abruptly awoke. She'd been half awake, the evening's nonsense turning over and over in her mind, when it hit her; Abby had told Badham that Herne was gone! She cursed herself for not reacting sooner. Those boys were in danger; Badham had the tables turned now, and he didn't need the Winchesters anymore. If anything, they were back to being a hindrance. She picked up the phone, but put it back down again, unsure. She hated the thought of frightening someone with a phone call in the middle of the night... But no, darn-it; this merited the rude awakening. She dialed and waited as it rang six, seven times. Finally a tired voice answered.<p>

"Yeah?"

"_Sam?"_

He recognized the voice and snapped to alertness. "Hedda?"

"_Oh, I'm so sorry to wake you, Sam; I really should have waited. You must have had a heart-attack when you heard the phone at this hour, for heaven's sakes! Maybe I should have waited til morning-"_

He cut her short. "Hedda! What's going on?"

_"Right. Well, Abby got back safely, several hours ago. That jackass Badham had accosted her in town, and he threatened to have the police haul me in over this business of all those people dying in the woods. Just another tactic to intimidate me, I suppose. Well, she had to tell him that the threat was gone, that you had gotten rid of it she didn't know about the conversation between Dean and that snake, and I just realized now that it could put you and poor Dean in some jeopardy!"_

"Hold on; Badham knows that Herne is gone?"

_"Yes! Well, not by name of course, but he knows he doesn't need you boys to control the stag anymore. I woke up in a panic thinking that since you're back to being a nuisance to him, and you know a fair bit about his activities, he might come after you, or Dean. I hope I didn't overreact."_

Sam blinked away any remaining fog of sleep. "No-no, you did a good thing. Damn, there goes our advantage! But thanks for the heads-up, Hedda, it was important. What about Abby, is she ok?"

"_She was shaken, but more annoyed than anything. We should have called earlier, but it was so late, and Abby was a little upset, and so very tired... Should we still come out to see Dean at the hospital tomorrow?"_

"No. No, he already left the hospital. He's here with me."

"_Already? Ridiculous! I can't believe they'd release him so soon_-"

Sam sighed. "They didn't, Hedda. He always does this. Anyway, Hedda; I'm gonna hang up now and let you get back to your bed. I'll connect with you tomorrow. But if Beowulf starts up about anything, you call us asap, ok?"

_"I will. Good-bye, dear." _When she'd hung up, she cursed the whole sorry situation. There was no one official she felt safe contacting about all of this; god knows every one of them was in Badham's back pocket. She vowed that tomorrow she would indeed dig Peter's gun out of the shed. She was not going to be caught flat-footed by that lot again.

Dean stirred and awoke at the sounds. "What's going on?"

Sam was angry; they should have understood how important communication was here. "Abby made it back ok. Badham had picked her up while she was in town, to intimidate her, telling her that he was going to have Hedda taken in for questioning. She had to tell him that the stag was gone for good so that he'd let her go. She's ok-but Hedda was panicking that we might be in danger."

Dean rolled onto an elbow with a grimace. "What, are you telling me he knows now? Aw jesus! So now we're useless to him again! Man,I thought we had that money in hand, and now we have to work under the gun sucks!"

"Yeah." Sam sighed. He lay back down. "We're going to have to keep on our toes, in case he does decide to get rid of us."

Dean grunted in agreement and turned out the light.

* * *

><p>They'd both been lying, silently awake, for a half hour, when the motion sensor was tripped on the parking lot light. It shone weakly through the heavy brown drapes drawn across the window.<p>

"Sam-" Dean whispered.

"I know-" he whispered back.

They watched tensely as a shape was silhouetted, it paused and seemed to try to peer through their window. Dean carefully searched for his gun under his pillow, but of course, it wasn't there at that time. He started to get up to retrieve another from their gear.

Sam motioned to him, shaking his head vehemently. He had the rock salt gun in hand, and he crept toward the door and silently opened it a crack; enough to see their would-be assailant. The man had his back turned and was trying to decide where to aim his gun. Sam abruptly pulled the door open and fired the shotgun, and the thug was hit by a barrage of hard, sharp crystals.

He howled and fell, writhing on the pavement. Sam hung back, scanning all around in case there were more of them. The man got up and loped awkwardly to a waiting car, and they sped off. Sam cast a harried last glance, and came back in.

"Did you get him?" Dean demanded.

Sam angrily tossed the gun onto a chair and sat on his bed. "Yeah. I loaded his ass point-blank with rock salt. We'll know him when we see him, he'll be the one walking funny tomorrow!"

"Good going, Sam. but you should've let me drill him with lead. He was planning to do the same, I could see it in the light!"

"Yeah, well maybe next time, ok? We don't want that kind of attention or scrutiny. You shoot a guy, even if he's threatening you, and you end up having to answer some pretty tricky questions from the cops."

Dean closed his eyes, trying to calm his heart-rate down from stroke level. A thought struck him; "Holy crap, Sam!"

"What?"

"Lucky thing Hedda called!"

Due to his weakened condition, Dean was asleep again shortly after, but Sam lay hopelessly awake. At least Badham and his people would know now that the brothers were aware that they were targets...might make the sonsofbitches a bit more cautious in trying anything in future. It seemed Badham had stepped up his game and was willing to do murder for his cause. He was furious over this latest atttempt on their lives and he was half tempted to just say screw-it, and let the future fend for itself regarding Herne. They'd done their part; they weren't bloody cops. But he knew that would leave Abby and Hedda to fight off Badham alone, and they wouldn't last long, despite their conviction. He got up and sat at the table with his laptop, searching for anything related to the area; histories, anecdotes, environment, geology. There was alot of material, most of it useless, and he went off on countless tangents. A fruitless hour and a half later, he found his eyelids heavy and he was able to sleep.

* * *

><p>Morning came after all, despite everyones' efforts. Sam got up and made some instant coffee, and was about to wake Dean when Abby called.<p>

_"Sam, I am so sorry for not calling last night! I don't know what the hell I was thinking, but I think Dean's in trouble!"_

He interupted her. "No, Abby, listen. Dean's here, he's fine. Yeah, you should have called, but it was lucky you didn't. Hedda called at two in the morning to tell us what happened, she was up worrying over it. Well, she was right to be, because not a half hour after she called, some bastard tried to take us out while we slept. And he would have, except both of us were awake still. It saved our butts, Abby, so don't apologize."

That floored her. "_Oh my god, Sam! That makes this even more significant; I got a call from another nurse from work. She told me that Dean had left a pile of pillows and waste baskets under the blankets and taken off last night. She was in early this morning to check on him, and when she moved the stuff, there were holes in the metal can. She checked the other stuff, and found little holes in the blanket too. It looks like somebody shot at what they must have thought was Dean sleeping there!"_

"Well, he went awol from the hospital and came here. So we were both lucky, then. _Jesus,_ Badham's sure getting nervous! This is pretty extreme for him to do."

"_The police were called at the hospital. But I doubt anything will be done about him, with the way thing are around here. What now, Sam?"_

He thought for a second. "Stay there, and be aware of anything strange or any sound from the dog; he's a damned good sentinel. I'm going to get Dean up and we'll come out to the cabin. I think you need protection, and we're obviously not safe here. I'll see you in an hour."

"_Ok, good. Thanks, Sam; I'll feel better knowing you're with us. I'll keep my cell with me."_

* * *

><p>Sam shook Dean awake. He griped and tried to rebuff the intrusion, but Sam spoke to him with an urgency he couldn't ignore. He told him of the near miss he had avoided at the hospital, and that they were to go to the cabin.<p>

Dean agreed grimly. He got himself up slowly, and carefully dressed while Sam went to the motel cafe to grab some take-out breakfast. He came back with the food, and the local newspapers.

There was a story about another death in the Blackvale. Sam passed a cup to Dean and pulled up a chair beside him. "Dean; here's something about Mason." He read out loud, "Local Man Found Dead in the Blackvale Wood; Possibly Another Victim of Mystery Animal."

Dean sipped the coffee and nodded for Sam to continue.

"Another victim of the aggressive animal, possibly a large buck believed to be roaming Blackvale wood, was discovered last night. Jeremy McCann, an employee with GeoTech Consulting, was found dead by hikers last evening. Early reports suggest the victim was gored to death, although autopsy tests are pending. Rangers are asking that everyone avoid the area until the animal is safely identified and removed."

He read on quickly to himself. "Dean, it lists everybody killed so far, but Mason's name is missing. And this guy, McCann; he's the one I spoke to earlier on, the one who lost his girlfriend in an attack!"

Dean's throat was paining him after the eventful night. He started to write on his pad, but tossed it aside in annoyance. "There's no way Herne got that guy, look at the time he died. Herne was already underground, unless he got out, or somebody dug him up."

"Shit! You don't think Hedda...?"

"No. She's too wracked by the fact that Herne killed Mike Hawley, and got me. No way she would have dug him up now." He was thoughtful for a few moments. "Sam, I don't think this guy was attacked by the stag at all. I'd put money on him being killed by Badham. Think about it; Badham is terrified that something will block his development, that's why he went after us so hard, before he really knew if we were even a threat. He knew this guy was a geologist, he was hired as formality to do a report for the city so they could approve everything.. He knew he was taking samples out there when his girlfriend died. What if McCann found something?"

Sam whistled. "I met with that guy. He was way too upset to ever willingly go back into those woods. If he gave his report to Badham and there was something in it that would have killed the deal, Badham would have suppressed it. But Jeremy would have still been a loose end; he would have known that the development should have stopped because of his findings."

"Sonofabitch! -man, this guy's out of control, Sam. He's worse than Herne, and now he can get rid of anybody he wants if he makes it look like the stag did it. And other than him, we're the only ones who know Herne's gone. Badham's got a free snuff-your-opponent card now...and we can hardly go tell the law what we know. We've got to get into his office-"

"_We_? Listen, zipper-hide; Bobby will kill me with a wrench if I let you go do anything remotely dangerous right now. I don't think so!"

Dean glowered. - _Nobody makes decisions about him- _"Princess; you don't know the first thing about break & enter. How were you planning to get in, Sam? Jimmy the lock with one of your hairpins?"

It was true, he was a neophyte burglar. Dean, on the other hand, had been taught those dubious skills from boyhood. The place would be very secure; it sold hunting weapons after all. Sam had to admit that it would be folly to attempt it without Dean's expertise. "Ok..ok; but you have to do this: _You_ call Bobby and tell him. Otherwise I'll have his boot-print on my ass."

Dean grinned at his victory. It was irrelevant that he was still in serious pain, irrelevant that he was weak, and irrelevant that he could barely walk from A to B let alone run. What mattered was that he was once again leading the parade.


	10. Chapter 10

10

Dean fulfilled his obligation and called Bobby. When he'd weathered the blast of profanities and allowed the older man to vent his frustration, he calmly explained the new urgency to the situation. Bobby took more than the usual cajoling; he could hardly even hear Dean due to the hoarseness of his voice. But in the end, he had to agree that there weren't a lot of options. He would have come down himself, but he was tied up in a hunt of his own, and by the time he'd completed the long drive to meet them, they'd have done the break-in already. All he could do was advise them to be careful, and worry for them.

Dean hung up and turned to Sam, "Ok, lawyer-boy; you can stop sweating this, your ass is covered."

"It wasn't me I was worried about, jerk!"

Dean gave him a fake teary sniffle. "Aw...I'm touched, Sammy. You really do care!"

Sam sighed in irritation and ignored him. "Are you ready to go to the cabin? I told them we'd go there first." He began to gather their things; their stay at the motel was over.

"Yeah. I don't feel safe leaving those two alone out there with Badham going this far now. Want a hand packing up?"

Sam looked at him wearily and shook his head. He knew Dean was being overly casual about his condition and he wasn't fooled. "No, just go wait in the car. And I'm driving, by the way, so don't bother even trying."

Dean glowered and went out to the Impala. He slumped into the passenger seat and leaned back. He was a little dizzy; obviously already over-taxed, and he was glad Sam wasn't there hassling him about it. He peered around to make sure his brother was still inside, and when he was sure he was still alone, he shut his eyes, wrapped his arms gently around his sutured middle and breathed out a groan. Too much moving around, not enough quiet healing. He sighed as deeply as was comfortable and willed away his vertigo. His throat was killing him, but it was just too damned slow to keep writing what he had to say. -_God-I hope this is finished soon_- he allowed himself to lament. By the time Sam had everything clutched in his arms and had thrown it into the back seat, Dean had hidden his discomfort and regained an air of authority.

They drove in silence to Hedda's place. Sam glanced over at Dean a few times. He was unconvinced by his brother's well-crafted facade of strength...he was, by now, well acquainted with the signs. He vowed to himself that Dean was going to be strictly playing an advisor role on the caper; if there was any jeopardy to be faced, Sam would be the one dealing with it. But he was also familiar with the phrase the best laid plans of mice and men….

* * *

><p>Hedda had anticipated needing some extra groceries now that they would be four instead of two. She made a list and Abby nervously popped out to fill it. Hedda was planning a feast; well actually, a series of feasts, to contribute. She still felt horrible about the recent events and how they'd affected the brothers. The least she could do is feed them well while they were under her roof. Abby had quashed her Gran's concerns about her going in to town alone, considering what had happened the last time. But she had gone armed with her cell, and a newly reprogrammed selection of speed-dial buttons. Better safe than sorry. She had her grampa Peter's Fish-Bonker club handy beside her seat in her car, and she had a few heads in mind that she could envision herself using it on. She was almost wishing she had a gun in her purse, but she knew that when it came down to it, she'd be more likely to throw the weapon at her attacker than actually aim it and fire. She could do that with a rock, for heaven's sake. As she walked toward where the volkswagon was parked, she bent down and picked up a smooth, rounded stone, the size of a large potato. She tossed it in her hand a few times, and dropped it into her bag. Comfort was comfort, regardless of the source.<p>

She was in the grocery store when Sam called to say they were heading out in 15 minutes. -_Good- _she thought. She wanted to check Dean over, after his ill-advised escape from the hospital. Sam had sounded stressed and annoyed over it; she knew she could be of help in this way, to the both of them. She was nervous and pleased that they were going to stay with them.. It was scary knowing James Badham was getting so desperate now that nothing was off limits to him. And she was embarrassed to realize that she was really looking forward to playing nurse to a particular patient. She admonished herself—_snap out of it, you horny twit!- _Instead, the threw herself into filling Hedda's very specific list.

* * *

><p>Hedda, for her part, was cleaning. She had already put fresh sheets on the bed in the spare room that Abby normally used when she stayed over. It was a double bed; she hoped the brothers wouldn't mind sharing. She and Abby would share her own room. She was cleaning her kitchen when she was startled by a knock at the door. Wary, she dropped her broom and picked up the old .22 she'd pulled from storage, cocking it. Before answering, she called to Beowulf, but the big dog didn't appear. –<em>Strange<em>—she thought, .he hadn't even sounded any alarm. Normally she'd have had more than adequate advance warning that she had a caller, especially if it were a stranger.. Perhaps it was friendly then...

She opened the door, gun in one hand and dish towel in the other. "_Ugh_-You-!"

Her visitor smiled a toothy, insincere smile. "My dear Mrs. Baldwin, please don't be alarmed...you can put your gun down, I'm simply here to talk."

* * *

><p>Abby carried her armloads of stores to the door. She couldn't knock, her hands were full, so she called out to her Gran to open the door. It seemed she didn't hear. Abby called twice more before setting down her bags and opening it herself. The house was quiet.<p>

"Gran-?"

Hedda didn't reply. Abby figured she must be out back with Beo, since the dog was also absent. She deposited her purchases on the counter and went back around the blackened woodshed, calling both of them. When she received no answer, she began to feel a choking fear. After a quick scan of the yard, she returned to the cabin and went from room to room.

She found her in the spare room. Hedda was lying on the floor beside the bed. Her eyes were closed. She looked as if she'd simply lain down for a quick nap in the middle of her tidying.. Abby dropped beside her, her heart in her throat, and checked for a pulse. There was none.

* * *

><p>Sam got Abby's frantic call just as he was pulling over to allow the screaming ambulance to pass. Dean, who'd been snoozing beside him, snapped awake in alarm.<p>

"Slow down, Abby; say it again!" Sam urged.

Dean anxiously watched as his brother's face grew taut, as he listened and spoke gently to the crying voice on the line. When the call was over, he waited expectantly.

"What is it? What's going on?"

"It's Hedda-" Sam replied grimly, "Abby got back from town and found her on the floor. Looks like she had a heart attack or something. She's dead."

Dean was incredulous. "What-? Hedda? Shit! Aw, jesus! Abby must be freaked!"

Sam floored it in response. The engine roared and bucked the car forward. "She is. With everything going on, she was sure that she'd been murdered, but she's a nurse, and she couldn't see any obvious trauma. She was just lying there, like she'd curled up for a snooze on the carpet."

Dean was stunned silent for a moment. It was the worst thing that could have happened. -_Poor Abby_. "Is she sure? I mean, with Badham gunning for everybody-"

"Paramedics will get there before we do; we'll talk to them."

Both brothers sat absorbing this massive and terrible piece of news, their minds racing. They could see the ambulance lights through the trees of Hedda's lane as they pulled in. By the time they'd parked and made their way down the path, the stretcher was already loaded with a small, still, sheet covered form. Abby stood by, tear stained and in shock. When she saw them she dissolved into fresh wailing and Sam caught her up and held her. Dean left him to the task of consoling her, and went to speak to the paramedics.

"What the hell happened?" he demanded, grabbing one by the arm as they were loading the stretcher into the ambulance.

"Are you family?"

"Yeah, yeah, she's my great-aunt!" he lied.

The man gave him a patient but kind look. "Sorry. Mrs. Baldwin appears to have suffered a massive heart attack. She had no vitals when we got here…there was nothing we could do. I'm sorry for your loss."

Dean stood, open mouthed for a moment. He could hear Abby sobbing against Sam's shoulder. "Well...what...I mean, will they do an autopsy? You know, she was being threatened; she was in the middle of some serious crap here!"

The paramedic turned to him with practiced sympathy. "Sir...look, she was an elderly woman, these things happen." he patronized. "If you have any questions, you'll need to call the coroner. I'm sorry, excuse me." He brushed past Dean and closed the doors, and the vehicle made it's way back up the laneway and out to the road. They didn't run the siren, there was no need.

* * *

><p>They stood in silence as the lights of the ambulance faded. Abby still sobbed quietly against Sam's chest, and he gave a look of helplessness to Dean, wishing there was more he could do.<p>

Dean's mind whirled with the news. -_Heart-attack, my ass!—_That old broad was as tough as nails despite her age; she lived and ate healthy, and as far as he could tell there was nothing wrong with her. Hell, if she were going to drop with a bad heart it would have been while the freaking shed was burning. No; there was a hell of a lot more to this, and he knew where that trail would end.

"Sam; take her to the hospital, use her car. I'll stay here, and check around."

Sam nodded and he guided Abby to the path. When they were on the road, Dean scanned the yard, frowning. The dog was missing. It was a notable change in routine. Hedda had Beowulf not only as a companion, but he functioned as a protective watchdog as well. The fact that he was missing meant that someone may have silenced him to gain access to the house. He wanted to see what the autopsy revealed. They'd have to do one; surely Badham's tentacles couldn't reach that far into the system.

He hoped no foul play would be indicated. Abby would have better closure if it was just a simple coronary, but the bitter irony that fate had decided to toss such a lucky break to Badham would be very hard to live with. In her distraught state, he wondered if she'd want to chuck it all and leave it to the developers. All in all, it was a miserable twist in a bitter little tale.

He entered the kitchen and looked at everything with a keen and practiced eye. Nothing seemed out of place. There was an old .22 on the table. Peter's gun. Looks like Hedda had found it and brought it in after all. He found a clean tea towel, to keep his own prints from complicating matters, and picked the gun up and examined it. It was clean, but hadn't been fired in a while; it still had a bloom of rust on the steel. But it was cocked and ready to fire. He put it back and kept going.

There was evidence of her dinner plans; a couple of recipes laid open, vegetables chopped and waiting to be cooked. She had a bowl of sliced and cinnamoned apples waiting to be put into a pie. There was a broom lying on the floor, which was a little odd. He moved on to the hallway. Again, nothing seemed wrong, same with the livingroom. The only oddity was a scatter rug out of place; it was crumpled up against a wall, as if someone had skidded on it. The bedrooms didn't show any upheaval either.

Dean checked Hedda's nightstand, and the bathroom cabinet. There was nothing in either that indicated any conditions or illnesses, and nothing that could have been taken by mistake; leftover meds from Peter, for instance. He had to admit that the possibility was strong that her death was natural. -_No. No way_…it was too timely and convenient. Badham had to be involved somehow. And if he was, he was getting pretty refined in his methods.

He had to sit down. The shock was pretty hard and he was not feeling strong at all. The whole thing was getting so god damned _heavy_… They'd done their supernatural hunting bit, but this was farther and farther from over. Demons weren't limited to the confines of hell, it seemed; humanity had it's living share. He sat on the threshold of the kitchen door, head in his hands and listening to the forest creatures gearing up. Hedda Baldwin had given everything to protect this place. He was damned if she was gonna lose. He raised his head and listened to those sounds, a forest lullaby that had soothed the soul of Hedda and her husband. Badham was going to silence that song. And he was going to get rich in the process, while he paved his way with the bones of his opponents.

Well; not on Dean Winchester's watch, that was sure. He got up and began to search the edge of the woods for anything significant.

* * *

><p>Sam had the difficult task of guiding poor Abby through the process. Hedda was declared DOA, and her body was placed in the morgue. Abby, as the sole surviving relative, was required to fill out countless forms and affidavits, and she did so in a state shock that reduced her to a near robotic state. Sam did what he could. She was informed that tests would be done, but that it was most likely an age-related health issue, and she should begin planning funeral arrangements.<p>

Sam was relieved to see her surrounded by a phalanx of supportive friends now. She had needed him in the initial crisis, but he felt safe in passing the torch to these sympathetic people, and returning to where Dean was.

* * *

><p>Dean was thoroughly dejected.<p>

After a tiring search of the yard, he sat again on a half buried stone to regroup. _Sonofabitch._ He couldn't find any evidence anywhere that could lead him to some answers. He ran his hand through his hair and sighed. Poor old Hedda. Her last days in her little paradise were nothing but stress and fear. Badham had a lot to atone for; he wished he could just go ahead and beat the living crap out of him and be done with it. But that'd just land him in jail, and the development would go ahead full steam.

He fumbled in his pocket for the ring and chain that she used to wear. He fiddled with the heavy, worn band. It was elegantly hand-engraved on the inside, with both their names. Sam had given it back to him, feeling that it would mean more if it were he who returned it to her. Well, he wouldn't get the chance now.. Worried that it could slip out of his pocket and be lost, he put it around his own neck, tucking it under his shirt.

He looked around wearily, and a shape caught his eye. It was the mask; the stone bearing Herne's image that Hedda's father had hauled all the way across the Atlantic. Here, mossy and surrounded by fading garden flowers, it looked like a harmless, ugly garden ornament. He vowed bitterly to bury it later. As he geared up to go back to the house, a strange little sound caught his ear. He got up slowly, and warily followed it to it's source. There, in the undergrowth, lay the missing dog.

"Aw buddy!" He knelt down beside Beowulf, and stroked his head. He'd been shot, apparently. His flank was crusted with drying blood, and there was a bungee cord wrapped tightly around his muzzle. He whined weakly at Dean's touch, trying to lift his head. Dean was filled with a boiling rage, _-F~~king greedy bastard!_

It galvanized him into action; he was filled with a grim resolve that this _was_ all going to be put right. He unwound the elastic cord and massaged the poor dog's face, then gently gathered him up, and carried him to the Impala. He laid him onto the back seat, not caring about any staining, and called Sam.

"Sam, how's Abby?"

"_Dealing with it. She's with friends now. They're telling her that she should start arrangements; it doesn't look like they're going to look too deeply into it. I was about to come out to the cabin."_

"Don't; I'm on my way in. I have the dog here; looks like somebody shot him, but he's still alive. I need you to get me an address for a vet."

"_Ah christ, are you serious? What a bunch of-! I'll call you back in a sec.." _He got a phone book from reception and wrote down several numbers. When he'd called and gotten an exam set up, he phoned Dean and relayed the address. _"I'll meet you there._"

"Yeah. But don't tell Abby yet, Sam. I don't know if he'll make it yet and she can't take that, on top of everything else right now. But it is sort of a good thing; it proves somebody was there that day, somebody who didn't want anybody to be alerted by the barking. I'll talk to you more later."

_"Alright. How about you, are you ok?"_

"Yeah, I'm fine." he lied.

He drove quickly, with grim determination. Badham was going to get what he deserved; he vowed angrily. -_I promise you that, Hedda!-_


	11. Chapter 11

11

Sam met him in the clinic parking lot. He gently retrieved the limp dog from the back of the car and they brought him in. The vet examined the poor beast quickly. He decided he was still a strong enough candidate for surgery and asked if they would authorize it, which naturally, they did.

"Good. His vitals indicate that he hasn't been hit in the lungs; if we can repair the damage he should be ok. He seems strong. Do you know what happened to him?"

Dean answered. "No, other than being shot, apparently. He belongs to Hedda Baldwin; she lives near the Blackvale Wood out on county 23."

"Oh, Hedda! Yes, my wife knows her, she was in a naturalist club with her and her husband a few years back. We'll look after poor old Beo. Do you have her number, so we can speak to her about it?"

Dean was caught off guard. "Uh…sure; but maybe you should call me first; here's my cell." He relayed that number as the vet wrote. "Listen, there's something going on here...the dog had a bungee around his muzzle. I'd appreciate it if you could document this and take some pictures, this may be important later. And better not say anything about the dog to anybody just yet"

The vet raised a brow, but he decided not to ask about their involvement. "I will, then. But we'll get working on him right away. Tell Hedda he's in good hands."

Dean assured them he would.

* * *

><p>"Poor mutt." Sam murmured. Dean grunted in agreement.<p>

"Did you see anything strange out there at the cabin?" Sam queried.

"No. Other than the dog. I checked all through the cabin; nothing looked particularly weird. An old .22 was ready to fire, on the table. There was a broom on the kitchen floor, and a throw rug wrinkled up, but that was about it. No drugs around, hers or anybody else's. Everything was in a normal place; if she let anybody in, there wasn't anything violent about it. Hell, if it weren't for the dog I would have had to accept a natural death verdict. How's Abby?"

"She's on autopilot. It'll hit her later. I don't know how this will affect everything; the estate, the subdivision. But she's got all her friends looking out for her now, supporting her. I told her I'd call her later."

"Ok. Well, I guess we might as well do what we planned, and stay there at the cabin. When we hear from Abby, we can bring her back there with us. Do you think she'd be ok with that?"

Sam was impressed with Dean's sensitivity. "Yeah, yeah, I think she'd want that." He assessed Dean for a moment. His brother was pale, and had dark, well-defined circles under his eyes. His voice was raw and thin.

"Dude; you seriously look like shit. Do you want to take a break? Abby's in the middle of what she has to do, and we won't hear about the dog for a few hours. How about you crash for a bit? There's nothing else we can do at he moment."

With uncharacteristic honesty, Dean admitted that yeah, he needed to rest. "You know Sam, I was just about at the _screw-it_ point. I mean; we did our job, Herne's gone. But after this shit….and Hedda… I had to pull a bungee cord off of a half-dead dog's mouth, for christ's sake! I want to bury that bastard Badham. But at the moment I'm pretty god-damned useless."

Sam glanced over with sympathy. He wanted to fix this as much as Dean did. But Hedda was gone now, that would never change. Abby would have to deal with that, to grieve, and then to make some decisions. But they could work to bring down the architect of this tragedy. He would normally have welcomed Dean's admission of weakness; he always had to guess at his state of being, especially during a hunt. But this time he really wanted to move on this. The office; they had to get in there asap.

"Dean, you take some time to crash at the cabin. When you feel a bit better rested I think we should get into Badham's office. I think you're right; all the keys are going to be in there."

Dean was pleased to hear Sam's agreement. "Ok. We'll go tonight, then. If I can grab some sleep I'll be in better shape for that. I'm telling you, Sam; If we don't find what we need, I'm just gonna grab that greasy sonofabitch and pound him 'til he tells us what we already know."

Sam nodded in grim agreement. "I hear you, Dean. I'll be ahead of you in that line."

* * *

><p>Abby called Sam. She had done all the necessary things; she was exhausted and just wanted to come home. He assured her he was on his way. He went into the livingroom where Dean lay curled up on the couch. Dean snored softly, lying still and at relative peace. It was in stark contrast to the past hour. Sam had sat beside him while he slept, debating whether he should wake him and free him from the grip of whatever was haunting his subconscious mind.. He'd twitched and frowned and moaned from the moment he'd drifted off, and Sam doubted he'd gotten much rest. Now that he was quiet, Sam was loathe to force him into the present. He decided instead to go in by himself. He wrote a note and placed it in an obvious spot, found a fleecy blanket, tucked it over Dean, and walked out to the volkswagon.<p>

* * *

><p>Dean was awakened by his cell. It was the vet. The dog had come through surgery and was recovering, they could pick him up tomorrow afternoon. He was relieved to hear that. He sat up and rubbed his eyes, checking his watch. He called out for Sam, and when he heard no reply, he got up slowly, and found the note. Judging from the time, he and Abby should arrive any minute. He went to the can and freshened up with some cool water. He still felt like crap. A strange, repetitive dream had plagued him for hours, robbing him of rest. It was Hedda. The same scene, over and over. She was sweeping, would stop, drop the broom, and stare ahead. She had no expression, and she raised her left hand and held it up in a ...what, a greeting? A warning? It wasn't a wave, just a raised hand. But her fingers were split, like a peace symbol, only the split was between the second and third finger. That's where the loop ended, and the scene would repeat. It was eery and confusing. She said nothing, only holding up that hand in that strange salute. He didn't know what the hell to make of it. -<em>Nothing<em>— He should make nothing of it. It was just a damned dream; people dream all the time. Sam might have his visions, that was different. But Dean was normal. He shook it off, irritated, and went outside to let the brisk evening air snap him out of it.

* * *

><p>Sam and Abby arrived a short time later. The trio sat and shared a few glasses of something strong. They drank to the memory of Hedda Baldwin, although it was all too fresh and raw for any of them to put their heart into it. Abby was wrung out and too tired by now to expend any energy crying.<p>

Dean decided to bring up the subject of the dog. "Abby...about Beowulf-"

"Did he turn up? Is he here? I didn't see him." She looked around, obviously hoping that he was there. They hadn't realized that she was close to the animal too.

"Yeah…yeah, he turned up. He was hurt, Abby; that's why he's been awol. I found him past the side yard, lying in the ferns. I took him in to get fixed up, and the vet just called, we can pick him up tomorrow afternoon. They think he'll be ok."

"Well…what happened to him?"

Dean looked at Sam, who nodded, understanding his silent question. They had to let her know what was going on. "Abby. somebody shot him. I found him bleeding, they'd tied his mouth shut. I wish I didn't have to lay this on you right now, but it's very important, and we need the element of speed here. You understand what that means; the dog being silenced?"

She stared at him, and her expression grew bitter. "It means Gran didn't die naturally, no matter what they're telling us. It mean's somebody wanted to get to her and didn't want the dog alerting everybody!"

"That's right. Abby; Badham's crossed a line now, and he obviously won't stop at anything to get what he wants. He probably figures that you'll be so devastated by Hedda's passing that you'll just want to take his offer and get the hell away from all this. Hell, we wouldn't blame you if you did. But Sam and I are breaking into his office tonight, it can't wait; he'll be extra wary now, and careful to hide his tracks. But he'll think we're too busy dealing with this right now, he won't be expecting us to try tonight. We're pretty damn sure there will be something in there that we can use against him…but it's risky. We want to make sure you're on board; I don't want to see you face any more danger unless it's something you want."

She turned her unwavering gaze to him. It burned with an almost frightening intensity. "Oh, I want it. I want to take my god-damned car and drive back and forth over him until he's just a stain in a suit!" Her eyes flashed with hatred and tears of fury. "Just tell me what to do."

Despite the gravity of it all, Dean had to smile a little at the thought of the little green bug being pressed into service in that particular way. "Good. We need to hear that, Abby; because one way or another, the shit's gonna hit the fan tomorrow. Hell; maybe you'll get your chance, but you might want to use the Impala instead."

She raised her glass to him. "That's a date."

* * *

><p>They realized that they were starving; the dinner plans having been derailed by the poor cook's untimely death. Abby got up to check what was available in the kitchen. Sam took the opportunity to speak privately to Dean. "So the dog's going to be ok?"<p>

"Yeah, they said he was strong, he'd heal ok. After seeing her reaction, I'm sure glad we didn't have to tell her something different. I figure we should grab something to eat and then head out. The quicker we do this the better; I don't want to give Badham any time to dump evidence. What did they say at the hospital?"

"That she was old, that this is something that should be expected, blah blah. They'll do a quick post-mortem but I don't think they'll waste any tax dollars on a comprehensive autopsy. We could go to the cops, especially with the thing with the dog; but we've heard it from different sources that the local law's in that asshole's back pocket. I don't see that we'd get much help there."

"Yeah. We've got to get a case put together and have Abby take it to state police. I sure as hell hope we find something in that office, and that we survive the trip, cuz we've got nothing otherwise."

Sam nodded grimly. "Sorry, dude, but I have to ask…you don't look any better than when I left; are you sure you're up to this now?"

Dean rubbed his face wearily. "This isn't ideal-, but I'm ok. I can do what I have to, when I have to. I'm just tired…I was dreaming strange dreams."

"Yeah, I know. I was watching you. What was on your mind?"

"Ah...just weird shit. I'll tell you later."

* * *

><p>Abby came in with some sandwiches and tea. They devoured them gratefully. "So what can I do to help you guys tonight?"<p>

Dean answered. "Just stay inside. Don't answer the door, keep it locked, and keep a phone near you. I'm sure you'll be safe, but better make sure. Sam and I will head out in a minute; we're going to go straight to that place in behind the hunting store; that's where they held Sam earlier. My guess is that anything he'd want to keep private would be there, and not in his official office downtown. We'll break in, go through stuff, and get back here as soon as we can. Barring any complications."

Abby blanched. "And complications are?"

"Badham or his goons showing up. Or the cops. Just cross your fingers."

They were ready to undertake their dangerous little foray. Dean left a loaded pistol with Abby; he showed her how to use it, he took the safety off and then left it within easy reach. "Just aim for the widest part. Don't worry if your hand is shaky, at close range, you'll hit something regardless and it'll stop them cold. And don't hesitate; you know _he_ won't."

She nodded and they left, walking in the inky darkness to the Impala. Abby chewed her nails.

* * *

><p>As they drove toward Wendover, Dean grimaced. "Yeah, <em>this'll<em> be easy; breaking into a freaking gun shop. They're going to be alarmed and locked tighter than Fort Knox."

"Do you think you can you get around all that?"

"Probably. Hopefully."

Sam's nerves screwed a little tighter. He changed the subject. "So what were you dreaming about?"

Dean was embarrassed that he'd said anything, but he described it anyway. Sam listened quietly. He knew what that felt like; trapped by sleep in some terrible place, trying to figure out the damned code to the messages…he knew it all too well.

"So it ended with the hand thing every time?"

"Yeah; her hand held up and her fingers parted like a 'vee'. Must've been, like, fifty times in a row."

"Mmm. That's pretty weird…think it was a sign or something?"

Dean looked at him like he was an idiot. "How the hell would I know? You're the psychic freak in the family! Why the hell would she show me this crap when _you_ can just be her _phonebooth-from-beyond_ whenever she needs?"

Sam wisely left the conversation for later; it was clear that Dean's temper was dangerously short and this was hardly the time to take umbrage. "So what are we looking for, assuming we get in?"

Dean sighed, regretting having snapped at him. "Paperwork; grab all the files if there's a cabinet. Check his desk; look for a safe. Just look for anything that could relate, hell, empty the trash and take it too. We're not going to have the time to be selective, we'll just have to grab stuff and get out. We can go through it all back at the cabin."

"Ok. Here it is."

* * *

><p>They killed the headlights and coasted silently into the lane behind the building. They were lucky; it seemed like there was no one there at the moment. The parking lot and laneway were empty, and the shops were long since closed for the day. Dean tossed a gun to Sam, and slipped his own into his waistband. Sam carried bags and a flashlight.<p>

It was hand signals from then on. They made their way to the alley door, glancing constantly and nervously around. Dean scanned the walls, finding the wiring for an alarm system. They followed it to it's source, and the more experienced B&E artist set about quickly disabling it. He seemed successful in that it didn't screech at his efforts. Dean flashed a thumbs up to Sam and they returned to the door. It was, as predicted, securely locked, with several different deadbolts.. Dean produced his specialty tools, and after a time he'd mastered all of them, and they had access. Sam was impressed; he knew Dean was good, but he never knew he was that good. They'd both been taught by their father, but Dean had apparently surpassed even John's level of skill. He nodded when Dean flashed a questioning look, and they held their breath and opened the door.

No alarms or bells. Nobody waiting to drill lead into an intruder. The place was dark and quiet. The room was basically storage; it was piled with boxes of stock. Sam remembered it grimly from his brief stay. But he felt a little better, remembering the moment he'd managed to knock Mason out, and he'd stepped out into the cool air, free. He shone his light around and located a switch on the wall. Dean nodded and he turned on the lights; there were no windows so they felt safe in doing so.

The light revealed a number of stuffed trophy heads on the wall; the hunting store offered taxidermy services. They were mostly white tail bucks, sporting impressive antlers and stony, vacant stares. The brothers looked around them, unnerved by this array of silent observers.. Dean pointed to one particularly magnificent specimen. It was huge, but imperfect; missing an antler-, and thus hardly a trophy worthy of spending hundreds on having it stuffed. He reached up to where the missing antler would have joined the head. It sported a stump, recently sawn; a frass of bony sawdust still clinging to the hair on the forehead. Someone had taken the antler from the head deliberately, and both brothers could guess why. –_the geologist._ Sam took some shots of it with Dean's phone for evidence.

Dean was searching for a desk, a cabinet, anything. But there was only the shelves and boxes. He was about to despair that they'd wasted their time here, and maybe they should check out the official office. But Sam had a hazy recollection of there being other rooms. He pulled away a tall shelving unit from the wall, and revealed a doorway.

Dean arched an eyebrow in approval. The newly revealed door was locked. He made quick work of that, and they entered the second room.

It was set up as an office of sorts. There were stacks of paper on a small desk, and as Dean had hoped; a file cabinet. A large, heavy iron safe sat in a corner. This was undoubtedly the place where Badham kept his darker secrets. Dean pulled open the file drawers, and saw that there was a considerable amount of material there. It was worth grabbing. He moved on to the desk, and forced the locked drawers, not bothering this time to hide his entrance. There he found more files; which he pulled and passed to Sam. He looked around quickly, and snatched up the wastebasket for good measure, dumping it into Sam's waiting sack. Things were starting to overflow the bag he held.

"I have to grab more bags from the other room." Sam whispered to Dean.

Dean nodded. As Sam returned to the main store room, Dean turned his attention to the safe. It was huge; probably weighing a good thousand pounds of cast iron. The thing was impossible to lift or move, but being old, from the forties; the locking mechanism was fairly unsophisticated compared to modern counterparts. He crouched beside it and set to work.

* * *

><p>Sam hauled his sack of papers and set them down on the floor by the door. He scanned around for where he'd put the rest of the bags he'd brought. As he bent to pick them up, he suddenly saw an explosion of stars. He slumped forward soundlessly, and his assailant stepped over him and crept silently into the second room.<p>

Dean waited impatiently for the sacks. He had gotten the safe open, and he was anxious to empty it and get the hell out. He heard footfalls behind him as he had his head inside the cavernous interior.

"Gimme another bag, Sam. I have a lot of shit here."

'Sam' didn't answer. Dean reiterated the demand, and when there was still no response, he backed his head out of the safe and turned around in irritation. Before he could voice his annoyance, he was shoved backwards. He struck the edge of the iron door and dropped heavily to the floor, disoriented and in instant pain.

"What the?" He looked up, half expecting Sam, despite the push. But it wasn't his brother. It was James Badham.

* * *

><p>Abby was a lot of things, but patient was not one of them. She paced back and forth, tense with worry for the brothers. She hadn't smoked since she was in highschool, but she sure craved one now. She checked her watch, the clock on the stove, the old key-wound chime clock on the wall; all of them telling her that it had only been three or four minutes since the last time she checked. <em>God<em>, she wanted to call Dean…but she knew that it could be a death knell for them if his phone rang at a critical moment. She wandered into the kitchen and picked up the revolver with distaste. She knew it was loaded and ready to go, and she felt it fairly seethe with menace. She'd rather have used the .22, but it was too unwieldly in close quarters. It'd make a good club, though. She wished poor Beowulf was with her now. When she stayed here with Hedda, the forest sounds were soothing. Now, as she sat in the quiet cabin, alone, they were giving her the willies. Finally, she had enough. She had to be closer; she couldn't spin her wheels uselessly while they risked life and limb on her behalf. She knew where they were going; Dean had said the hunting supply store. She grabbed her keys and purse, ignored the pistol on the table, locked the door and jogged up the path to the bug.

As she drove toward town, she told herself repeatedly that this was stupid, dangerous; and what was she thinking? But the thought of what befell her Gran kept her grimly determined. Whatever happened; she was going to do her best to make bloody sure it didn't replay for the brothers. She pushed the volkswagon to its limit.

* * *

><p>When Dean fell, his gun slipped out of his waistband and out of reach. He lay propped against the open safe door, half sitting and holding an arm up defensively against the absolute <em>last <em>person he wanted to see.

"You god-damned, piss-ant amateur! I knew you'd try this! I knew it!" Badham was frothing with fury, his voice rising higher and higher. "Do you think I'm some stupid hick? I've squashed bigger threats than you!"

He kept a gun trained on Dean, and he hauled back and gave him a vicious kick. Dean yelped and doubled over, fighting the urge to puke as he pressed a hand to his middle. Bright red blood instantly bloomed on the fabric of his tee-shirt. -_So much for the doc's fine stitchery_-

He coughed and caught his breath- "You greedy sonofabitch; you killed her, didn't you? What the hell did you think, that her death would instantly make all the resistance go away? Abby Fines loved her grandmother, she won't be a pushover to a piece of shit like you-!" he rasped.

James Badham replied with another kick. The custom, alligator-hide boot found his tender ribs; Dean couldn't help but cry out.

"Oh I _will_ have that property; Hedda Baldwin's well timed heart-attack is just a start. Abby Fines is young and single; no dependents, no spouse, no relatives. I'd bet my left nut on her having no will drawn up. When she has her 'unfortunate accident', there will be no one left to inherit. That property will be under the control of the state, to be dispersed, and I guarantee you, they'll accept a generous offer long before they have to go through the hassle of putting it up for auction. You stupid little gnat; I've been greasing the wheels of bureaucracy for years! Do you think I don't know how to swing things my way?"

Dean knew he was in serious trouble. Nobody incriminated themselves like that unless they were sure there would be no witnesses left. And Badham had spoken with a candour that pretty much telegraphed his intention to leave without any encumbrances tonight. He wondered desperately where Sam was. -_Stall the SOB—have to stall him-_

"How'd you do it; Hedda's death? They're saying it was a natural heart attack-" He pulled himself upright again and leaned against the safe wall, panting.

"Sure it was. She was old; old people die." Badham sneered, offering nothing.

"Yeah, maybe. But dogs don't tie their own mouths shut and shoot themselves."

Badham's eyes narrowed. "Well...aren't you clever. It doesn't matter; one dead dog and two dead granola warriors don't make me a murderer. Not if they don't find you, anyway." He trained his revolver on Dean again.

Dean had to keep him talking. A man tooting his own horn was a man not pulling a trigger. "What are you planning then? Death by antler, like Jeremy McCann? You can't pretend I was killed by the black buck if I'm pumped full of lead!"

That caught him off guard. '"That was the work of the Blackvale stag, don't you read the papers? What makes you think I was involved?"

Dean snorted. "We already had that stag thing contained by the time you tried to buy me. There's no way it killed him. It wasn't the buck; I'm thinking it was the job of some two-legged pig."

His tactic backfired. Badham wasn't inclined to spend any more effort conversing. He hauled off and struck Dean with the butt of his gun instead. Dean fell back to the floor with a curse. He shook his head, and struggled unsuccessfully to make the dual visions of Badham meld into one in his sight; one was more than enough at the moment.

James dropped a knee onto Dean's chest; his considerable weight pressing him flat to the floor. He grasped a handful of the groaning hunter's hair, and snarled; "Do you have any idea how many generations of my family have ruled this town? You've got some nerve, breaking into my place. Nobody f~~king crosses a Badham!"

He released Dean's hair and grabbed him by his bandaged throat, squeezing with both hands. Dean's eyes flew open; he writhed against the crushing pain and clawed at Badham's arms. He choked out a desperate cry for Sam, and pushed against Badham's chest. But in seconds his struggle weakened, and he was filled with panic as a prickling blackness crept into his vision. Badham's sweaty, pudgey grip was as tight as iron on his throat and he shuddered against the numbness that was creeping into his veins. But Sam didn't come. Consciousness slipped away, and he felt nothing more.

* * *

><p>It was a shame…because he really would have appreciated the little vignette that followed.<p>

James William Badham suddenly stopped seeing Dean. He stopped seeing anything clearly; he half stood up in response to the solid blow dealt to the back of his balding head. He mouthed something silently and fell sideways.

Abby stood over him, her tear-stained face a frozen mask of revulsion. In her hand, she clutched a rock. It was the same rock she'd collected from Hedda's lane and stowed in her purse. She hit him again for good measure, and then clutched it to her chest as she choked back her rising emotions.

Sam stumbled up behind her. She whirled in adrenalin fueled fury; ready to brain any other Badham cohorts, but he caught her up and pinned her until she dropped the stone and broke down into deep, wracking sobbing. He held her tightly, as he scanned Badham for signs of life. The town despot was solidly unconscious, a stain of dark blood clotting in his fine, thinning hair. But he still breathed normally, which was a back-handed blessing. It would have been profoundly satisfying, but they didn't want to hunted by more cops for yet another murder they hadn't done.

Sam whispered soothingly to Abby as he released her. He had to see to his brother. She nodded and together, they knelt over him. Dean lay, white and still; fresh blood smeared over his chest and throat. Sam was terrified that Dean had finally used up all of his lucky breaks. But he was still breathing, with raspy, laboured effort.

Abby snapped out of it at the sight of him. "Sam; help me carry him, we need to get out of here now!"

He nodded, still working to restore his own rattled faculties after being hit. He wiped the trickle of red from his own face and hauled Dean up, lifting his shoulders from the floor and dragging him to the doorway. Abby went ahead and opened the Impala door to receive him. The got him into the passenger side as he groaned in protest. Sam dropped heavily into the driver's seat and was about to follow Abby to the hospital, when Dean struggled up to stop him.

"Don't... Don't waste time-" he rasped. "Get the rest, the stuff from the safe….get it all!" His eyes were rolling with the effort of staying alert. "-then get back to Hedda's….hospital's not safe-"

Sam was torn for a moment, but he agreed. He exited, ran back into the store room, and emerged moments later laden with everything that could possibly have any significance. After stuffing it all into the back seat, he floored it away from there; keeping pace with the green bug. They drove at breakneck speed, and didn't stop until they reached the safety of the cabin.


	12. Chapter 12

12

Safety was a relative state. They knew that there would be visitors soon enough. It could be Badham and his thugs, or the law. Neither would be welcome. All three were very aware of the threat, and of their limited time. They had a window of opportunity to go through what they'd taken from Badham's office, but they had to hurry.

"Do you know of any safer place?" Sam asked Abby. He was nervous; the cabin was undoubtedly the first place anyone would look for them.

She looked up from her ministrations, shrugging. "Not off-hand…"

Dean was lying on the couch, grimacing and trying to hold his tongue as she repaired the sutures Badham had torn open. He realized he was damned lucky: there were only one or two places that needed attention. Badham was pretty riled, he probably would have done him a lot more damage before putting a bullet in his head. If Abby hadn't come when she did, he was sure he would have been just a bloody corpse. He fought against the feeling that those soft, sweaty hands were still wrapped around his neck. The throttling he'd received had aggravated the condition of his throat and he was barely able to speak now. But once the shock of the evening had worn off he was as determined as the rest of them to find what they needed to nail the bastard to the wall.

"There you go, all fixed." Abby assured him. He gave her a thumbs up in approval, and closed his eyes in relief that it was over..

Sam had been watching that little surgery and he felt the tension in his spine relax a little on seeing his brother successfully patched.

Abby gave Dean a couple of 222's. He washed them down with whisky and pulled himself up to sit. The ring, Hedda's memento, was on the bed beside him. Abby reached forward and touched it. She had taken it off him when she worked on his stitches, and she wndered whe he wore it.

Dean read her question. "It was her contribution to the trap for Herne. Sam took Badham's gold ring instead, so we never had to use it. I was afraid it'd fall out of my pocket, so I put it on. I was going to give it back to her today."

Abby stared at it for a moment, then closed her hand over it, wiping tears away. She got up and retrieved something from her purse, adding it to the chain. It was Hedda's own wedding band; she'd gotten it at the hospital. Dean clasped it around her neck for her. The second band hung snugly inside the big ring that had been her Grandpa Peter's. It was a perfect fit.

But that brought emotions that were too deep and hard to deal with now. Abby took a shaky breath and pushed the feelings away."Thank-you….for keeping it safe."

Sam broke the moment. "So now what, Dean?"

Dean took a careful breath and frowned. "We brought a shit-load of stuff; it'll take hours to go through. I'm afraid to stick around here; Badham's bound to be panicking that we're learning all his dirty secrets Maybe we should all hit the road and find a place outside Wendover…somewhere not so freaking connected."

Sam was in agreement. Now that Dean was tended to, they really needed to put some miles between themselves and their determined adversary. Abby had a thought. "I know there's a nice B&B in Cobden; that's about fifty miles south. I've never been there, but my girlfriend and her husband stayed there for their honeymoon It's a nice stone house; a little out of the way, and they're not a big place, just a few rooms. But it's off season, so they're probably not booked on a weekday. I doubt Badham would even know of it. I'll call them, if you want."

Dean glanced at Sam, who nodded. "Ok, do that. We have to set something up and out-of-the-way sounds pretty damn good right now."

Abby went to the kitchen to call. Sam leaned over Dean, who was having trouble trying to pull on a fresh shirt. He helped him don yet another version of his ubiquitous uniform, and peered at him closely." So...you ok?"

Dean was showing the strain of the battering he'd been taking of late. He sat, round-shouldered and weary, the lines ever more deeply etched under his eyes. He shrugged and winced. "Ok enough. How about you? You got whacked over the head pretty hard; are you alright?"

"It'd take a helluva lot more than that to crack this egg." Sam smiled, rubbing his head wryly.

Dean snorted. He leaned back and sighed. "So.. we're getting a romantic bridal suite stay now. Kinda makes you the ugly friend, Sam. What are we going to do with you?"

"Who said _you're_ the groom?"

Dean grinned smugly, remembering Abby's lament when he was laid out in hospital. "Trust me, Sammy. Ya got nothing." The rest of that debate would have to wait. Abby returned with a scrap of paper in hand.

"Ok, we're set. It's getting late; they're holding the room open for us, as long as we get there within an hour. You guys ready?"

They both rose in answer. Sam helped Dean, who had a little trouble getting vertical. He waited out his brief unsteadiness and assumed a leadership role again. He made sure there were no lurkers in the shadows around the house and they made their way as quickly as possible to the Impala.

"Mind if I drive?" Sam offered. Dean nodded.

Abby pushed aside the piles of paper and sat in the back. She made neat stacks of the material as they drove, wondering what ugly activities they would illuminate. She was almost afraid to be that privy to Badham's handiwork, but she was anxious that something helpful to their cause would be revealed. She caught sight of an odd item in the collection.

"Why the antler?" she asked.

Dean was about to answer, but he swallowed with difficulty and put a hand to his throat. Sam frowned at him. "Dude...seriously; give your voice a rest. You sound really rough; I'm not just trying to shut you up." He turned to Abby. "It was in the safe. The only reason he'd put something like that in there is if it was significant. My guess is it's the one used to gore that geologist. Ten to one there's traces of blood on the tips…he was probably keeping it in case he had to fake another stag attack."

"Gross." Abby shifted away from it slightly.

* * *

><p>Sam drove fast, but warily; it would be disaster to be pulled over for speeding now. Dean crashed for the majority of the ride. Sam glanced at him periodically, relieved that he didn't seem to be plagued by any dreams this time.<p>

"Here; this is it." Abby said. Sam turned into a long gravel drive and pulled up in front of a quaint storey and a half farmhouse. He gently shook Dean awake and popped the trunk to grab their bags. A white dog, small and wiry, greeted them with excited yapping, running circles around the car until someone called him in. Abby went ahead to check in. She returned with keys and she collected her own small travel bag from the back seat. The trio made their way to the suite. Abby was thinking clearly...the suite was a double; two chambers connected by a door. Each room had a queen bed. No bridal suite; it was geared toward travelling families. Dean was out of luck. She'd booked it for three nights, just in case. Once everything had been collected from the car, Sam drove it around back to a more discreet parking space that wasn't visible from the road.

By now it was pushing eleven. As much as they wanted to dive into the task of sorting through Badham's things, they decided that it would be best to hit the sack and start fresh in the early morning. They were all tired, and in that state important details could be overlooked. Dean kicked off his shoes and crawled under the covers without changing. Sam showered, feeling a need to wash away the memory of his unexpected meeting with James Badham.

Abby cried herself to sleep.

* * *

><p>They made good use of the excellent breakfast their hosts had prepared. Once they were satisfied, they turned to the task at hand. Sam had put all the paperwork they'd grabbed in piles on the dresser. He divided it evenly between them, and they started reading. Pertinent material was put aside to be re-read later. They pored over it in silence, and there was plenty of incriminating material. Sam had found a file that pertained to the geology report. That one had come from the cabinet.<p>

"This says all clear, no issues. It's probably bullshit." he said

"I guarantee it is." Dean had found a similar file. His contained the real report written by Jeremy McCann. "Check this out."

Sam and Abby perused the report with him. It detailed the geological survey started by McCann, and it was complete with the lab analysis.

"Holy shit…Radon. High levels." Sam murmured.

"So what does that mean?" Dean demanded.

Sam sat back. -_This was huge_- "It means that nobody should be digging foundations in the Blackvale. Ever. Radon gas is a serious carcinogen, Dean. It's off-gassed by uranium deposits. If it's detected in existing houses, there are ways to contain or reduce it, but if it showed up before development, especially at these levels, they'd never allow the subdivision. Too expensive to remedy."

Dean and Abby exchanged looks. "So this is exactly what we need to sink this thing?"

Sam re-read the report. "Sure as hell looks like it. Jeremy McCann found out about the radon; that's why Badham had to get rid of him. He couldn't suppress the information if he was still around to dispute it."

Dean swore. "So the poor bastard died because he did his job properly."

"Yeah. And he witnessed the killing of his girlfriend by Herne first. Sucked to be him, for sure."

Abby asked the obvious question. "So this is it? This will save the Blackvale?"

"It's a start. I'm pretty sure it would put the brakes on any development; Badham's or anybody else's, but-"

"But what? What else?" Dean snapped, impatience winning over.

Sam, having studied law, knew a little of the workings of things, and he was well read. "Well… the radon is one thing, but the uranium could be a bigger problem."

"Why?" Abby and Dean asked in unison.

"Uh..well, mining rights are sort of strange. You can own your land, but anybody can stake mineral rights. You could end up having to allow strangers to crawl all over your property, even dig or develop a deposit, if they've staked a mineral rights claim."

Dean was incredulous. "Come on, are you serious? Somebody can own the rights to whatever is under your own land? Man, that totally sucks!"

"Uh huh. Unless you stake a claim first."

They were silent, absorbing this new information. Abby was first; "No wonder he was so freaked that we were in that office! He's going to know all this. Oh my god, I have to stake first!"

"Yeah, you do. And unfortunately he knows it."

"Ok, but where? Where the hell do I do that?" she said in panic.

Sam thought for a moment. "The registry office; it'll be in the same place as the county offices. We have to drive out there asap. Abby, any idea where that is?"

She was still blown away be this new information. "Uh...no, not sure. I should know…Jesus, I can't think, I'm so bloody tired!"

Sam looked at her with sympathy. It had been a hard couple of days, to say the least. "I guess you didn't sleep very well, with everything that's happened."

She sighed. "Yeah. But it was the weird dreams. I don't feel like I slept at all."

Her comment struck Dean. He remembered the persistent imagery of his own dreams earlier. He held his hand up in the split fingered salute he'd gotten from Hedda throughout his own the previous evening. "Abby, does this mean anything to you?" He had just wanted to know if it was something that Hedda did, some greeting.

She blanched.. "How did you know?"

"Know? Know what-?"

"About the hand; her hand, in my dream…how did you know about it?" She was wide-eyed now, both fearful and curious.

Sam perked up at that. He looked at Dean to see his reaction.

Dean leaned forward. "Abby, I had a dream yesterday, when I was waiting for you two to come back from the hospital. It was the same damn scene, over and over; your Gran was-"

"Sweeping...she was sweeping. And she turns and holds up her hand, in that weird way." Abby was becoming emotional, and frightened. "It was the same thing over and over; the fingers held up like that. I don't know what it means, she never did that, never!" She bit hard on her lip, fighting a rising wave of raw emotion.

Dean glanced at Sam and caught his eye. It _was_ a message...it was important. They'd had identical dreams, and they'd both been left with the same picture; the strange way she held her hand. It seemed that Hedda had something that she felt compelled to communicate to them and it was up to them to understand it now.

"Ok…ok, let's figure this out. Abby, you say that you never saw her do that in life. And we both had the same dream. So what does a hand held like that mean? A number, like two? Like maybe there were two people involved?"

She shook her head. "No, I don't think so; her thumb was stretched out too, and anyway, if she wanted to say two, then why not just hold up two fingers? That would have made more sense."

"Yeah..I guess. Sam; got any pearls of wisdom here? Something we're not thinking of?"

Sam had nothing to add. "Only that the fact that she had those particular fingers separated…I mean, that's obviously a big part of the message. But no, I don't know what it could be."

Dean sighed in frustration. He turned his attention back to the papers in front of them and began to sift through them again. He had the bag that held the waste basket contents now, and he examined everything; each discarded and wrinkled scrap. When he unrolled a ball of crumpled paper, a small vial slipped out onto the carpet. Abby saw, and snatched it up.

"What is it?" he asked.

"It's an empty vial that held an injection drug." She turned it around and read the label. It shocked her; this med had no business being outside a hospital. "Jesus christ! It's Lanoxin!"

"And that is?"

Abby looked up in horror. "It's a brand name for digoxin...it regulates heart function."

Sam and Dean drew the same immediate conclusion. "Heart? Could it-"

"Yeah." Abby said, her voice a strangled whisper now. "An overdose would cause a heart attack."

Sam got up and grabbed some fresh tissue. He carefully took the empty bottle from her shaking hand and wrapped it.

Dean's mind was racing. –_the dream-the hand_— "Abby, if somebody wanted to hide a needle mark, would it make sense to put it between the fingers?"

She looked at him, wide-eyed; the gravity of his question hitting her like a brick. "I they were doing a basic post mortem they'd never look for something like that; a tiny mark in the space between fingers. Even if they had a reason to look for a needle prick, they wouldn't likely check there.. Oh god, that's it; that's what it means!"

She was nearly hyperventilating in an attempt to keep from breaking down. It was Dean this time who pulled her close, and she lost it. Sam continued sifting through the waste. He found another wrapped item, and when he unrolled the paper, a syringe was revealed. "Dean, look—"

Dean turned and glanced at the object in Sam's fingers. He nodded his grim acknowledgement. The syringe and vial were an extremely important find. Together with the rest of the evidence, it would not only stop the threat to the Blackvale Wood, but Badham would most certainly be facing murder charges. They had everything they needed to sink him. Now all they had to do was get to the appropriate authority and present their case.

Sam read Dean's mind. "We need to get this stuff to the D.A. Like, right now. Badham knows it too, Dean. The minute we're on the road he'll be gunning for us."

Dean nodded grimly. They knew what they had to do. And it wasn't going to be easy.


	13. Chapter 13

13

The trio absorbed the gravity of their situation. They had everything necessary to make James William Badham pay for his crimes. All they had to do was lay it out for the appropriate higher authority; one that Badham hadn't already bought. . But that was complicated in so many ways.

The most significant was the fact that Badham was aware that they had it, and his only recourse now was to keep them from getting to anyone other than his own people. And there was another sticky aspect, one that Abby had to brought up to speed on.

"Wouldn't it make the most sense to get an escort from the state troopers or something? I mean, if we talk to them first, and they hear us out and believe us, they should be able to come out to protect us, right? We're all witnesses to this criminal activity; they should be here to help us!"

Dean looked at Sam. -_Bloody complications_— "Abby..._shit; _ look, Sam and I; we can't be near any cops. We…well, we have a couple of problems, in that area."

"Problems?"

"Yeah.." he sighed. "With what we do; it doesn't always make us look good to the rest of the law-abiding populace, you know? And it's not like we can just explain it to people."

Abby didn't understand- "Dean, we are totally in the right here! Everything he did was wrong, and now we have the proof! He can't possibly turn this around on you two!"

Sam intervened. "That's not the problem, Abby. This is a solid case, but the truth is; Dean and I are wanted in another incident. It was complicated, and the reality of that event is too bizarre to use as a defense. We...well, Dean, specifically is wanted in that case. If we show up to the cops on any level..."

Dean finished. "We'd be cuffed and screwed. But not only that, your own case against Badham would be tainted. If you have any association with us, you could blow your chance to nail him. You have to present this on your own. And you still have to stake the claim on the Blackvale and Hedda's land: you have to do that in person, and now. Badham might lose his claim on it if he beat you to it, but ended up indicted. But he's not an idiot; he'll get some crony to stake on his behalf. And that's not something you can do over the phone or online. Getting justice for Badham is one thing, but the whole point of this mess was to save those woods from any threat, including mining, or development or whatever."

So there it was. They had to run the gauntlet, one way or another.

Abby was floored. For christs sake; she was just a nurse in a small Vermont town, she had no frame of reference for this kind of thing. "Well...what do I do now, then? Do I try to get to the registry office, or the District Attorney's office? I mean, c'mon guys...which hill do choose to die on?"

Dean was silent for a moment. "Registry. I think that's the most pressing. We have the stuff on Badham; time won't change that. And you can present all the evidence without us being there. But you have to stake first or somebody else will, and then Herne could be dug up in future again.. You can phone the D.A. to lay it out, I'd bet he'll send you an escort, based on what we have here. But the claim...you can't do that on your own, it'll be a death-trap. Badham will be all over the place, making sure you don't go anywhere with his papers . And you sure as hell won't make it in that little green tin can you drive. We have to try to get there in the Impala. She's got the guts to beat any patrol car, or anything Badham can scrape up."

They all knew he was right.

Sam distilled the thought processes. "OK; let's get all this stuff together and into the car. We'll get the evidence to the D.A.'s office second, but first we get to the county seat. Abby; do you have all your ID and shit with you?"

She nodded. "But I don't know any details about the roll numbers of Gran's property, or Badham's."

"You can get that info at the same place. The registry office will have all the legal descriptions of the land."

Abby was becoming overwhelmed, and she felt a rising panic. "Wait! Wait! Let me do this; I'm going to call the district attorney; I'll tell him I'm couriering this stuff out to him. If I write it all down, everything that happened, and add it to the package; he'll have plenty to go on. Then we can head out to the Registry office. Even if….even if we don't make it, at least Gran will be avenged. Maybe he'll beat us, and somehow get the development pushed through and make his tainted millions, but he'll only be able to appreciate the results when he's a ninety year old Depends-wearing ex-con."

Dean thought for a moment. "Yeah, do that. Give them the head's up. Call a courier, get all this shit out to them. Then we'll hit the road. And if we don't…I mean…if we..."

They all understood where he was going.

Abby called. She called the D.A. first. She navigated through the maze of voice-mail and over-protective secretaries until she finally had the man himself on the line. And once she'd explained their case, he was keen to meet. He offered to send them a car, but she declined. "Ok, he's in the loop. So I'll call the courier next." She did so, and they were left to wait impatiently and nervously for the driver's arrival.

* * *

><p>The little white Westie dog announced the Fed Ex truck. They had all the evidence packaged and a detailed letter prepared. It all went into the back of the cube van, and they watched it head away. The faith that it would reach its intended audience was all they had now. Dean summed it up. "Ok. That's done. Let's hit the road."<p>

The B&B owner came out to retrieve the dog. "Oh, I meant to tell you; you had a call about fifteen minutes ago, someone asking for . They said they wanted to come out for a quick visit so I gave them directions out."

The brothers exchanged worried looks. "Uh...thanks. Fifteen minutes ago?" Dean asked tersely.

"Yes, just about. They wanted to make sure you'd be here, so they didn't miss you. I'm afraid I forgot the name, but he said he was a cousin of yours." the lady smiled. Abby thanked her, and they stood in the driveway until they were alone again.

"Abby?"

"I don't have any cousins, Dean"

The message was clear. Badham knew their location and was coming. They had to go now.

Dean asked Sam what he was more comfortable with, shooting accurately or driving fast. Dean was better than his younger brother at both. As Sam hemmed and hawed, he made the decision for him. "You take the passenger side, and the gun. I'll drive. I know more about what the car can do than you do. Just keep pumping slugs at any body chasing us, doesn't matter if you hit anything, they'll be ducking either way."

Sam nodded and went to throw their remaining gear into the trunk. Dean turned to Abby. He didn't hide the worry in his face; she had to know that this was watershed time. "You stay down, in the back. Don't let your head be a target, ok?"

_That_ made sense. She nodded, pale and tense.

"Abby, you ready for this?" Dean asked quietly.

She took a deep breath and smiled a wan smile, and they piled into the Impala.

* * *

><p>They weren't on the road back toward town more than ten minutes before Dean noticed they had a tail.<p>

"Company." he said grimly. He glanced feverishly into the rear view mirror. As far as he could tell, it wasn't the man himself, but rather, another Mason style minion. Not that it mattered; guns were guns, bullets hurt no matter who shot them. They stayed a consistent fifty feet behind the Impala.

"You have the directions?'' Dean demanded.

Sam answered, "Yeah, I'll tell you where to turn."

Abby turned around to see, but Dean barked at her to stay down and safe. She ducked again. Dean kept an eye on the mirror, and gave it some gas. "Shit—" he muttered, as the car stayed with them. He sped up a little more. Sam glanced back frequently as he loaded the .44 and held it ready. The next few miles were going to be tricky—there was a lot of treed cover and no one else on the road. Dean felt it was a place that they would make their-

Suddenly the rear window shattered in a hail of tiny crystals. Abby screamed and crouched into a tight ball, ignoring the cascade of glass bits twinkling in her hair, and Dean yelled to Sam, "Shoot, Sam! Make them back off!"

Sam was already on it; he leaned out his open window and pulled the trigger repeatedly. His aim was wild, but the car pulled back. Dean threw the wheel and abruptly turned right, and they thundered down a secluded gravel road, throwing dust and stones as they fled. But the other car followed the move and began to gain again.

"What the hell's he driving?" Dean snapped, fighting to keep the wheels grounded on the gravel.

"Uh, Chrysler 300."

"Hemi?"

"Jesus, I don't know!" Sam snapped.

Dean needed to know what kind of power his pursuer had. _Damn fast car_—it was no wonder it kept up to the Impala. But the sleek old Impala had more than just great lines; she had a rocket under the hood, and it wasn't hampered by the modern niceties that kept polution down at the expense of power. Dean floored it fully and they instantly lost their pursuer in a veil of dust. He turned at the next intersection, back in their intended direction. "Everybody ok?" he demanded. Abby and Sam assured him they were. But their relief was short-lived as a second car flew up behind them. Dean had seen it coming in the rear-view mirror. "Sam! Get ready!"

Sam whipped around, gun in hand, as a barrage of shots hit the car, some pinging off and others thunking dully through the thick metal. He returned fire as Dean spun the wheel in another abrupt detour. "It's Badham! He's in the car!" Sam barked.

Dean pressed his lips into a grim line and floored it, but this car matched him move for move. He felt a lurch as Baham's car roared forward and struck the Impala's bumper hard. Dean whipped his head around, "F~cker! " It enraged him to have his car abused; it was one thing to duck bullets himself, but this was unforgivable! He braked hard, and then floored it again, forcing the other car to hang back. Sam kept up his own fusillade as the slugs continued to strike their car. They were making headway again when Sam yelped. He dropped the gun onto the floor at his feet and hunched over, clutching his upper arm tightly.

"You hit?" Dean barked.

Sam nodded with a grimace. "My arm, it's ok!"

-_Oh no it is not-! _Dean swore with a vengeance, stomped the gas pedal and roared far ahead, and then spun the wheel so abruptly that the Impala fishtailed in a full 180, flinging gravel as the wheels found purchase and the car bucked forward. Badham's car was dead on now; they raced toward each other in an insane and deadly game of chicken.

"Dean! What are you doing? You'll hit him!" Sam shouted fearfully.

Dean kept his eyes locked on the other car. "No! Trust me Sam, he'll move when he has to! "

He had mere seconds to pray he was right, and as the grills of both cars were just about to explode against each other, Badham's driver pulled sharply to the side and skidded at full speed into the ditch. Dean braked hard, the Impala spun halfway around in a haze of smoke and dust. Gun drawn, he threw the door open and vaulted over the shattered guardrail. He'd had enough; this thing was gonna stop NOW.

"Dean!" Sam shouted.

But Dean was in a zone. He roared Badham's name in an adrenalin fueled rage. Sam stumbled out of the car and shouted to Abby to stay put. He ran to catch up to his brother as the driver of the car exited shooting. Sam dodged and Dean stumbled to the road, and got back up, returning fire. The thug dropped to the grass, screaming and clutching his thigh. Dean shouted at Badham again.

James Badham, like every bully, was a coward at the core. His high-pitched voice answered fearfully, he held his hands up and begged for them to stop shooting. Dean had reached the other car now. He bent over, hands on his thighs, trying to catch his breath for a second, then stood back up and pointed his gun again.

"Get out! Throw your gun out here first!" he panted. Sam reached his side as Badham did so, and the county despot exited the car with timid obedience.

"Sam, go grab some rope."

He nodded and sprinted back. Dean growled at Badham to stay where he was. There was a helluva lot more he wanted to say, but he didn't have the breath or the time at the moment.

Badham pleaded. "Look son, you can be a wealthy man! Just say the word and your brother and you can live like kings! Come on, that young lady there too; I can do that for you, that and more. Just listen to me!"

"Shut the hell up, you greasy sonofabitch!" Dean snapped.

* * *

><p>Badham dropped his head in defeat. Or so it appeared. As Sam came up with the rope in hand, Badham swiftly drew a small handgun from some hiding place, leveled it at Dean and fired.<p>

"NO!" Sam cried.

Dean dropped to his knees, gasping, and fell to his side.

The younger Winchester flew at Badham, tackling him and flattening him to the grass before he could get another shot off. In a blur of rage, he grabbed his suit front and pummeled his face until Badham was bloody and screaming. He wouldn't have stopped had Dean not grabbed him and pulled him off.

"Stop, Sam! It's ok...just stop." he said hoarsely.

Sam felt the fury wane, and he turned now to his brother with concern. Dean was weaving, hanging on to Sam's sleeve tightly, his other hand pressed to his breastbone. His knees buckled, and Sam caught him and lowered him gently. "Abby, help me!"


	14. Chapter 14

14

Sam shouted Abby's name in a panic.

Abby had witnessed it all. She snapped to action and bolted from the car. She skidded to a stop and dropped beside her fallen friend, casting a fearful glance at the two occupants of the other car. She needn't have worried; the driver was busy rolling and crying over his injury, and Badham was curled up and whimpering in the grass.

Sam was frantically tearing at Dean's clothing. "Oh god, Dean! Where are you hit? Talk to me, come on!"

Dean coughed and clutched his chest, still winded by the impact. "Sammy...I'm-"

The terrified young man continued to try to tear through the layers. Still gasping, Dean writhed on the ground, trying to roll away from his brother's grasp.

"Sam!" he coughed, pushing at him. "Stop! Stop it, I'm-"

Poor Sam grew frantic. "Abby, help me; hold him still! He's delirious, or in shock or something!"

Still wheezing painfully, Dean finally managed to shove his brother away. "For shit's sake, you freaking lunatic! I'm trying to tell you I'm ok!" he growled. He pushed himself up to a sitting position and glowered at the two hovering over him. His chest was on fire, he pressed a hand to it and groaned.

Sam wasn't convinced. "You're in shock, Dean; there's blood on your shirt, you've been hit!" He tried once more to assess the damage, but Dean rebuffed him again, with a none-too-gentle shove.

"Do I have to slap you? Cut it out!" But just in case, he pulled his tee-shirt neck away and looked down inside, wincing with the sharp pain. "aw…jesus!"

Abby went into triage mode at his exclamation, she tried to lay him down again, but she stopped at his very irritated gesture.

"Look, both of you; I'm not shot, ok? Just back off for two seconds!" He fished his amulet out from where it had stuck into his skin, and yanked it free from around his neck, frowning as he looked it over. It was unrecognizable; a twisted and misshapen ruin, resembling nothing of his prized and sentimental pendant. He wiped his blood off it, and realizing the significance, his anger turned to wonderment. "Sonofabitch! Sam!" He held it out to his shell-shocked brother.

Sam's mouth dropped open as he took it and examined it closely. "You lucky bastard!"

Dean winced a grin as Sam showed it to Abby. Her reaction was much the same. The amulet was ruined, but that was where the tragedy ended. When Badham had pointed that pistol and fired point-blank it should have been curtains for Dean. But as fate would have it, the bullet struck the amulet and glanced off. Had it not been there, Dean would have been dead, with a bullet embedded in his heart.

Abby shook her head in disbelief, handing it back to him. "You sure had somebody watching over you today!"

He closed his hand over it, as the reality of his close brush with death hit him. A wave of dizziness swept over him, and now he did lay back down. He finally allowed them access under his shirt, and Abby provided the necessary first aid. She did the same for Sam, who was nursing a nasty graze along his bicep. When she was done, she made them promise to get them looked after properly later. They humoured her by agreeing.

Dean lay propped on his elbows and worked to calm his breathing, and when he was finally able, he nodded toward the two men. "Better tie those two, Sammy; don't want to have them find some balls again and try another shot."

Sam picked up the rope and roughly trussed the two as if he were competing in a rodeo calf roping contest. He probably set a record. He returned, and tossed a small item to his brother. "Souvenir."

Dean caught it and shook his head in disgust at the tiny weapon. "A freaking purse-gun! Figures. Help me up, Sam."

Sam grasped his hand and hauled him up, and when Dean was sure of his equilibrium, he stalked over to where Badham lay. He stared at him with arms crossed, his face a sneer of contempt.

"Nice work, Jimmy Bill. Your little girly gun couldn't put a hole in a pair of pantyhose." He crouched over his enemy, and leaned close to his face. "But I tell ya, you sure freaked my poor brother out. I'd kick your fat ass for that, if you hadn't already crapped yourself. I guess we'll head on over to the land registry offices; got a couple of claims to stake… Oh, but don't worry; we won't leave you here all alone. The D.A.'s got state troopers on their way to pick you up any minute now.. " He smiled acidly. "Seeya."

He turned his back and walked away from the disgraced and fallen emperor as he began to blubber and cry. Returning to the others, he asked- "Abby, wanna have a go at him? You sure as hell earned it."

She stared at the pathetic and whimpering mound in the grass for a few moments. Finally she flashed a teary smile to Dean. "No…that's his style, not mine. I'm happy to remember him just like that: whupped. And I'll have a sweeter revenge when he's had his day in court, thanks to you two." She hugged Dean close, in a cathartic and fervent embrace. The squeeze made his eyes water, but he bit his tongue and let her, despite his discomfort. Sam saw and smiled a little, prying her gently away and hugging her himself as Dean turned away, rubbing his aching middle.

She pulled away from Sam with a smile. "Time to file that claim? Dean, are you up to that right now? We can go to the hospital first-"

The discussion was cut short by the roaring arrival of the first car that had pursued them. It charged up and ground to a dust-choked stop, and it's two occupants leapt out. Dean grabbed Abby's arm, pulling her safely behind them. He still had Badham's little gun and he leveled it at the men.

The hired help took in the situation. Their quarry was clearly in control of the situation, and James Badham was lying trussed and weeping in the grass. They were well paid for their particular efforts, but not enough to guarantee any loyalty. One of them shook his head, and the other nodded, and spoke to the group. '"We got no issue. Seeya." They turned around, hopped back into the car and squealed off in the direction from which they'd come.

The trio exhaled a collective sigh of relief.

"We'd better get our asses out to that registry office." Dean said. They walked back to the Impala, and as they approached it, Dean groaned bitterly. He walked around the car, counting the holes and swearing. He was sorely tempted to run back and give Badham that ass-kicking after all.

Abby knew how much Dean loved that car. She gave his arm a sympathetic squeeze. "Dean, don't sweat this...getting this fixed is the least I can do for you. I know a good guy in town; he's quick and does fine work. Let me get it repaired, please?"

He was torn. He liked to do the work on her himself; the only other man he let near her was Bobby Singer. But he wasn't up to crawling all over and under the car, grinding and welding, in his current state. He was barely up to thinking about it. He sighed. "We'll talk."

* * *

><p>Dean used his last remaining energy to coach Abby in her call to the District Attorney. It was delicate; he had to present a variation of the truth that would keep them out of needing to be future participants in whatever Badham and his lot would be facing. But she handled it fine. She hung up with a huff of relief, knowing squad cars were now racing to retrieve her adversary.<p>

"Ok...the SOB is going to be picked up. What now?" she asked tentatively. The question was quietly directed to Sam, as she watched Dean, who'd uncharacteristically taken the back seat. His eyes were closing, she could see he was fighting his exhaustion, but his body was protesting the traumas and he just couldn't keep going. She turned away, her feeling of guilt nearly suffocating her. Sam saw her expression and gave her hand a squeeze.

"He's ok, Abby." he whispered. But he turned around and checked just to make sure. Dean was now breathing quietly in comfortable sleep. "We'll go to the county offices. He said he was alright to do that first, and he looks pretty happy at the moment. After that...well, I guess it's up to you. He'll need a place to crash for a little while. We can find another-"

"You'll stay with me. I'd suggest the cabin because it's roomier and quieter than my place in town, but I guess the police will be wanting to look through, now that Gran's death will be considered a homicide."

Sam agreed. "Yeah, cops will be crawling all over it for evidence. That's a good thing, but we can't be near it while it's happening. You sure it's ok for us to stay with you?"

Abby shook her head and looked at him like he was insane. "Uh, yeah! God, nevermind how indebted I am to both of you; I consider you guys my friends and it's my pleasure. Besides, Sam…to be honest, I have a lot of hard things to do in the next little while. I could use the moral support of somebody who has a real understanding of this whole thing. My friends are great, and they'll keep me from going under emotionally, but I can hardly talk about all this with them." She paused for a moment and stared ahead. "I think I'm a little shell-shocked. This has all been so awful, and I haven't had a spare minute to absorb everything. I guess I should warn you that when it does hit me, I'll be pretty lousy company." Her eyes were shiny, but she didn't allow herself to weaken beyond that.

Sam felt for her. He knew what it felt like to lose a loved one, and he knew that it would be bitterly hard for her after the drama quieted and the sympathetic friends went back to their own busy lives. He thanked her, and was spared further conversation as they arrived at the building.

Abby turned to him, a little panicked- "Christ, Sam; I haven't got a clue what I'm doing here."

"I'll come with you. Shouldn't be hard to figure out." He glanced at the snoring figure in back. "Dean? Dean, can you wake up for a sec?"

They were treated to an irritated growl. "Yeah, what?" he frowned.

"I'm going in to file the claims with Abby. Are you ok to stay here snoozing? We're in the parking lot at the county offices."

"Mm hmm" he nodded, drifting off again.

Sam locked the doors and they left.

* * *

><p>The process was a little time consuming, but they were relieved that no one had attempted to stake anything before they had a chance. Abby filled out everything, they got all the information required to start the process. She was now officially registered as the first to pursue the issue, even if Badham still wanted to keep his grip on that land, he couldn't do it through this avenue. They returned to the car, and Dean was where they'd left him.<p>

"So now the hospital." Abby directed.

Sam shook his head. He knew enough to see that Dean would recover, and it wasn't worth the risk. "No, let's just get to your place-"

"Come on, Sam! Both of you are bleeding! You need to get checked out!"

He was tired and his patience was running out. "Abby, with things as they are, it's iffy for us to go there. And besides, you're qualified to fix him up, if he needs anything. Trust me, if he wasn't asleep, he'd say the same thing."

Dean quietly seconded the motion. "Get home...need bed…need bourbon."

She smiled a little, knowing she was over-ruled.

* * *

><p>They spent the next few days as low-key as possible. Dean was pretty much a non-entity, he was finally able to take the time he needed to rest and heal. He hardly left his cozy place on the futon in her den. They checked on him regularly, carrying meals in to him, Abby playing her role of nurse with efficiency and care. Dean was thoroughly spent after everything he'd gone through, but after the second day he was feeling stronger.<p>

Abby was trying to get him to drink his tea while it was still warm. She was about to put it to his lips when he gripped her wrist, gently pushing it away as he wriggled up to a reclining position. He made a face at her, and his eyes lingered on hers. "Abby, you got to stop playing this mother role. It's gonna make it weird for me to sleep with you."

That caught her off guard. "Excuse me?" she said, blushing.

His smile widened and he released his grip and slid his warm hand onto hers. "Your little confession, in the hospital...were you hoping I forgot?"

She was flustered, but clearly not offended. She leaned closer to his face. "I told you; you were just hallucinating. I have standards, you know."

He pulled her closer and whispered, "Lock the door…"

* * *

><p>Long after Abby crept out, with the excuse of needing groceries, Dean emerged to shower. Sam was at the table, reading. He looked up. "Hey, Dean. Feeling better?" His query was innocent, but he wore a sly expression.<p>

"Yeah, a _lot _better."

A smile played over Sam's lips. "I'll bet."

Dean knew they were busted. He smirked. "What?"

Sam shook his head. "You know; I'm as much of a hero as you are. How come you're always the one to get the girl?"

Dean grinned like the proverbial cat who'd had his way with the canary. "Sam…Sam…so many reasons."

Sam snorted and rolled his eyes. "Well, I call next one."

"Yeah, good luck with that." Dean teased.

As Dean dressed, Sam sighed with relief. He was really glad to see his brother up and around, and it seemed he was back to his old hound-dog self. That meant they'd be hitting the road soon, leaving this strange hunt far behind. And now that Dean had _entertained_ Abby, he knew he'd want to leave the entanglement as soon as possible. It wasn't personal; just Dean's way…don't get close to anyone.

Abby and Sam had spent a lot of time together while Dean slept. They had some long and serious discussions; she had endless questions, as people new to such otherworldly experiences always did. And he was able to help her through the trials of calling family and friends and arranging Hedda's funeral. He liked her, she was bright and strong. She'd do alright.

Dean rejoined him, looking refreshed, and stronger.

"So I guess we'll be leaving soon?" Sam asked.

Dean nodded. "After the service. Abby has things handled; no point in us hanging around."

Sam got up and rummaged in the fridge, returning with a couple of beers. He cracked them and handed one over. "Yeah, I guess it's time. I talked Abby through everything that's coming up; what to expect from Badham's trial, what to say and not to say. She's nervous, but she'll be ok. Won't be for months anyway; so at least she has time to get her head straight about her grandmother's passing."

"Mmm…" Dean grunted.

"Did she tell you what she's going to do with Hedda's property?"

Dean shook his head. "Not sell it, obviously. But she doesn't seem the rustic cabin type, though. Has she got plans?"

"Uh huh. The Hedda and Peter Baldwin Memorial Conservation Area. She's going to donate it to the Parks Service, with a covenant in place that says it can never be sold for any purpose other than a park. She's looking into petitioning to have the Blackvale forest declared protected. Badham's environmental report was bogus, of course—that huge oak tree alone is so old, and part of a virgin stand—it'd probably be enough to get it designated as protected. Plus, now that the radon issue is there it's worthless in terms of investment. It'll probably fly."

"Huh. Yeah, she would have liked that. Weird old broad, Hedda." Dean sighed. He was glad to hear that her death would bring something positive in it's wake. "When is her funeral?"

"Thursday. Her body was released to the funeral home this morning, so it's underway. Abby's got a small memorial planned—hardly any family in the states—most are distant cousins in Britain. Hedda and Peter's old friends from the naturalist club, and Abby's friends. After that, she's gonna spread the ashes in the woods. I already told her we couldn't really attend the service without triggering questions. She understands. But she wants just us to go into the forest with her later."

"Yeah...that's best."

They both sat in silence for a while, remembering Hedda, reliving the past days. The reverie was interrupted when Abby came in laden with sacks and accompanied by a bright-eyed Beowulf.

"Hey, buddy!" Dean said with genuine delight. The dog was shaved and bandaged, and still showing the orange stain of pre-surgical disinfectant. But other than that, he looked healthy. He wagged and barked once or twice as Dean rubbed his head roughly.

"The vet called me just as I got on the road." Abby said, as she put her purchases on the counter.

"He looks great!" Sam said, giving him a good scratch.

Beo hardly noticed him; he only had eyes for Dean. Dean was not so romantic as to think it was because he'd been the one who'd saved the poor mutt. It was just a dog thing; they pick their friends just as any person would. And Dean was definitely high on his list, it seemed.

"Ok, get off me, gopher-breath!" Dean said, trying to fend off the front paws that insisted on planting on his tender middle. Abby called the dog into her room with the lure of kibble and shut the door.

"The vet said he'll be fine. Now I've got to figure out what to do with him." She got a beer herself and joined them.

"You have to get rid of him?" Sam asked. Dean shot him a _Don't-even-think-it_! warning glance.

"Well I don't _have_ to. This place allows pets, but he's just so damn big, and he's used to such a different lifestyle. It wouldn't be fair to keep him cooped up in an apartment all day. But at the moment, I can't even think about giving him away. He's pretty much the only family I've got now." she said, her voice trailing off. But she steered herself away; no time for emotional episodes. "I know there's doggy daycare places, and people who do dog walking. That's a start."

Dean remembered Sam's news. "I heard what you're thinking of, for Hedda's property. That sounds really cool...pretty much perfect."

"I thought so. I loved visiting Gran, but I'm not the woodsy sort that she was. I could never live in the cabin; it's way too rustic and isolated for me. And with everything that happened there, well…I'd just as soon do it this way. I was going to ask you two to go through the place, after we sprinkle her ashes. If there's anything you want, please take it. I'm going to donate anything I'm not keeping anyway. There's probably a few things you nomads could use. Gran had a lot of camping type gear, colemans, that sort of thing." They thanked her awkwardly. "Mmm, that reminds me; Dean, your car's ready. I can drive you over to pick it up."

He blanched slightly. "_Ready-? _..Uh, weren't we going to discuss that first-?"

"Oh, we did. I told you all about it a couple of days ago. You snored your agreement." she grinned. "And don't panic; your baby is pretty again. Rob appreciates those old junkers." she winked.

They had to go immediately, of course, once Dean was informed. They left with a promise to return with pizza.

* * *

><p>Dean was relieved to find the Impala beautifully restored. Abby was accurate; Rob was a master, there was no evidence she'd ever been pock-marked with Badham's bullets. Dean talked cars with him for a while as Abby slipped a few doors down to pick up drinks. Rob glanced at the Impala- "Yeah, nice work, she's in great shape. I heard you did it yourself?"<p>

"Mostly. Got a friend with a knack too; he gives me a hand." Dean scanned around the shop. There were other cars there, awaiting a rebirth. One in particular, caught his eye. "Hey, I know that car—"

Rob followed his gaze. "Sixty-nine Dodge Charger. Yeah, that belonged to a friend of mine, who passed away recently. Man, he loved that car. We were gonna paint her the weekend he... Well, I'll keep working on her."

"Mike Hawley."

"Yeah…you knew Mike?"

"I met him. Good kid...too bad."

Rob cleared his throat and nodded after a moment. "Yeah, well anyway, here's your keys. I was gonna see if anything needed a tweak, but nothing did. That's a real nice car you got, it was a pleasure working on her, especially considering who it was that poked all the holes in it. 'Bout time that bastard got his due."

"Yeah, amen to that. Thanks."

Dean met Abby in the parking lot. "How did it turn out?" she asked.

"Perfect. You know you didn't-"

"Shut up." she smiled. "Come on, your brother will be starving."

* * *

><p>Abby made it through the funeral. It was hard, and despite her resolve she bawled along with the rest of them. She got a lot of support for her park idea, and she certainly got an earful of the unanimous sentiment regarding James Badham. She was regarded as the town hero now, she had no idea how far-ranging an impact their efforts would have.<p>

When it was finally over, and it was quiet again, Dean and Sam followed her out to the cabin. Beowulf was ecstatic to be home; he searched every room for Hedda, and Abby broke down when he whined his question to her. After some comforting, she and the brothers found a suitable and lovely spot, and Hedda Baldwin was returned to the rich forest earth that she'd loved so dearly. To Beowulf, it was all a game. He took up the cause and promptly scattered her ashes further afield. Somehow it seemed fitting.

They had several pints in her honour. Abby had bought the strong, black stout that Hedda preferred, and the boys downed it without complaint. "It's an acquired taste." she apologized.

"I guess so!" Dean blurted with a grimace, and they had to laugh.

A while later, they reluctantly went through things to see if indeed there was anything they could take. There was a well made bowie knife with a handle of antler; it was grampa Peters, and Abby insisted Dean have it. Sam found a number of books that interested him, one of which was particularly important. It was the ancient leather bound book that Hedda had read from to conjure Herne. Abby was happy to give it to him, she wanted nothing to do with it. Sam knew it would be a valuable addition to Bobby's collection of deadly literature. Dean took the old .22 as well, promising to make it shine as new. They always needed guns.

* * *

><p>Sam walked up the path to the car with their bounty. Dean and Abby were alone for a moment. He put his arms around her. "You ok..?"<p>

"Yeah…sort of. I will be. Thank you, Dean... for everything you two did for us. I know Gran felt so, _so_ awful when you got hurt, and she really appreciated your help fixing things. I wish she were here to see her victory."

"That sly old lady knows, Abby...don't ever think she doesn't. I know she would have been drinking to Badham's fall. Probably is right now, somewhere."

Abby laughed and cried equally. "Yeah, toasting and cursing him."

* * *

><p>They gathered around the Impala. Abby knew they needed to go; she was expecting the words that followed. She would have loved them to stay longer, but she knew she was strong enough handle things. Sam passed her his email address. " Abby, call us, or email, if you need any help. We can always come out."<p>

Dean held her for a while, until she finally pulled free. "Ok.." she sighed. "Get going, you two. If you stay any longer and I'll have to keep you for good. You and Beowulf."

Dean gave her a last, lingering kiss and they closed the heavy doors and drove away.

* * *

><p>After some time on the road, Dean broke the silence. "This is right, isn't it? She'll be ok?"<p>

"Yeah…she'll be ok, after a while. Doesn't matter how long we stay, Dean; Hedda will still be gone and she'll have to deal with that. Don't feel you're abandoning her; she's got her own life. We did what we're supposed to."

He needed to hear that. He knew Sam was right.

Sam had first driving duty. Dean slept intermittently, refusing Sam's insistence that he stretch out in back. Sam couldn't help but snicker every time Dean shocked himself awake when his head dropped to his chest or his open-mouthed snork jolted him into the present. Finally they stopped for a much needed infusion of caffeine. They switched at that point.

"So...where to?" Dean asked.

Sam pulled out a fresh National Enquirer. "I have no idea, Dean. But I'll tell you in a few minutes."


End file.
